


We each play the part written for us (you can't change the future)

by maryangel



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Community: bandombigbang, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-26
Updated: 2011-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryangel/pseuds/maryangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Frank, being a character in a comic book is much easier than dealing with reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We each play the part written for us (you can't change the future)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/tempore/profile)[**tempore**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/tempore/) for the amazing and thorough beta and the feedback.

Frank is minding his own fucking business chatting with this drunken girl who keeps swearing they’ve met before and nodding politely as she stumbles over her words, when a guy covered in tattoos pushes him for no reason at all.

Frank’s beer splashes all over his pants, his Chucks and over the girl’s tight tank top.

“Watch where you’re going, you fucking cunt,” the guy mumbles as he shoves Frank against the wall with a clammy hand, his stinky breath invading Frank’s nostrils.

Frank might not be a short tempered asshole all the time (he admits he can be one, on occasion, especially when there’s alcohol involved) but _this_ , this kind of shitty behavior definitely brings this personality trait right out of him. The guy is obviously looking for trouble. He’s obviously looking to get punched in his motherfucking rat face and Frank is more than happy to indulge him.

Frank shoves at the guy and watches him stagger back, his eyes widening as he almost trips on his own feet and grabs onto someone’s arm to stay vertical.

“I’m gonna fuck you up, you midgety cunt,” the guy shouts, his eyeballs ready to burst out of his skull, his face red and his hands clenched into fists.

 _What a fucking asshole_ , Frank thinks as he takes a step forward, dropping his now empty plastic cup on the floor.

The conversations in the room all stop and people start staring at Frank and at the guy like this is the most interesting thing to happen in their pathetic lives. Although, this is fucking Jersey and it’s a Saturday night so they probably expected this to happen sooner or later.

“What did you just say, scum face?” Frank calls out just as a hand grasps at his t-shirt. He shrugs it off easily.

“You, midgety cunt. You are a midget and a cunt and you need to get the fuck out of my face before I break you in half.”

“That’s what I thought.”

If there’s one thing he hates more than people who talk at movies or that fucking pot hole in front of his mom’s house that already cost him hundreds of dollars in repairs on his car, it’s when someone calls him a midget.

Ok, so Frank is short. Very fucking funny.

He’s been called a midget a lot in high school and it still gets him now. It always gets him. Being two feet tall doesn’t make him less of a man. Actually, he’s plenty capable of kicking someone’s ass. When he lunges at the guy, Frank is ready to break his face and make him regret his words.

The asshole is faster than Frank had anticipated; or maybe less drunk that he seemed at first glance. He ducks and Frank’s fist crashes against something hard that makes his knuckles crack.

He realizes that it’s not a wall he hit, although it’s just as hard, but a dude’s face. A dude who obviously had no idea a fist was about to get up close and personal.

The dude lets out a tiny squeak and covers his face with both hands. Frank steps back, wondering what the fuck just happened, but the asshole uses the distraction to his advantage and clips Frank’s jaw with a mean right hook.

Frank sees stars for a second. Then he shakes it off and rams into the asshole who is too busy gloating to see him coming. He shoves him against a wall and hits him in the guts and kicks him in his fucking balls until Frank can hear someone scream.

It takes Frank a little while to realize he’s the one doing the screaming. Someone pulls Frank away from the bloodied motherfucker curled up on the floor. Well, they try to pull him away. He squirms and manages to drag whoever is holding him towards the asshole, who is now sobbing and glaring up at Frank, his breath noisy and labored.

“Don’t fucking call me a midget. Don’t you fucking dare or I’ll fucking kill you,” Frank shouts and he fucking means it. Another pair of arms drags him back and this time, Frank has to let go.

“He’s down, Frankie,” the voice says in Frank’s ear. It’s Ray. Ray’s dragging him back to the kitchen.

“He called me a midget,” Frank says because this should be enough to explain why he just broke someone’s face and made sure they wouldn’t be able to reproduce.

“I know,” Ray says as he sits Frank on a chair and starts examining him.

“I don’t think your nose is broken,” he says, handing Frank a roll of paper towels. “But it’s bleeding,” he adds before disappearing back into the living room, probably to take care of the asshole.

When he comes back, Ray is with the guy Frank punched by accident.

 _Fuck._ Frank punched a guy by accident. How does something this stupid happen?

The guy is bleeding from a small cut on his right cheekbone and he’s probably going to sport a big ass shiner tomorrow morning. He looks a little like a deer caught in the headlights of a semi, tiny and panicked, and kind of cute.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry, dude,” Frank says, sliding off his chair to look at the guy’s face.

“Wha?” he mumbles as he’s clutching his hands over his face.

“I didn’t mean to,” Frank says, pulling the blood stained tissue off his nose and gesturing at the guy’s cheek.

“Better put some ice on it,” Bob says from behind Frank before tossing a bag of frozen peas at Ray and a bag of baby carrots at Frank. “You too, asshole. For your nose.”

Frank grits his teeth and presses it over his knuckles because they hurt more than his nose right now. He purses his lips and lets the cold numb the pain away. This party fucking sucks. Frank should have told Ray to fuck off, which is what he usually does when Ray invites him to a party.

Ray is a nice guy. He really is, and a fucking God among humans when it comes to guitars. He is a good friend and a great boss too, the kind of boss who buys Frank coffee from the Starbucks across the street and gets him bagels for breakfast every Friday.

But as great as Ray is, what Frank doesn’t get about him is why he hangs out with so many fucking assholes. Bob, their host tonight is actually not that bad but he’s the exception.

“I think I’m gonna head home now,” says the guy with the bag of frozen peas on his cheek.

He looks at Frank like he’s going to eat his soul, his eyes dark and narrow. Then he hands Frank the bag of peas and gives him a lopsided smile. _What a weirdo._

“I think you need it more than I do,” he mumbles in a duck voice, dabbing at Frank’s nose with his cold fingers.

Frank shakes his head. He doesn’t need shit. He needs to go home and sleep until it’s time to head back to work on Monday morning.

“Do you need a ride, Gerard?” Ray asks the guy, squeezing his shoulder and giving Frank a look that’s not even pissed off. He just looks a bit disappointed, maybe even worried.

Gerard nods and cringes. He sucks in a breath and presses a hand to his cheek. “I can walk home. I’m fine.”

“Way to go, little shit,” Bob tells Frank when Gerard walks out of the kitchen with Ray.

It’s not his fault the guy was standing there like an idiot. He wasn’t aiming for him at all. He just happened to be in the way.

“It’s not my fault,” Frank mumbles. That’s his cue to leave. He doesn’t know Bob that well and he doesn’t want to argue with him about the assholes he invited at his party. Bob probably thinks Frank is the asshole right now.

“Then it was your fist’s fault? You have some kind of evil hand problem?” Bob asks as Frank drops the bags of frozen foods on the counter.

He doesn’t say anything back because it doesn’t seem worth it. One fight is more than enough for the night. Instead, he goes to grab his coat from the closet in the hallway, nods at Ray a quick “bye” and then heads out before he feels obligated to break someone else’s face. _Fucking party and fucking assholes, the lot of them._

*

When Frank walks out of Bob’s apartment building, he finds Gerard standing on the sidewalk, looking a little lost. He’s searching his pockets for something he obviously can’t find and looking up and down the street like he’s not sure where he should be heading next.

“You okay?” Frank asks as he buttons up his jacket and buries his hands inside his pockets. It’s fucking cold and it’s totally unfair because it’s not even winter yet.

“Huh,” Gerard replies; although it’s more of a sound than an actual reply.

Frank shuffles his feet and stares at Gerard’s bruised cheek. “I’m really sorry about punching you in the face.”

“You said that already.”

 _Right._ “I thought I’d say it again because I _am_ fucking sorry. You deserved an extra apology,” Frank says with a hopeful smile.

“That’s three now,” Gerard mumbles, a gloved hand shooting up to his cheek.

“I’m sorry?” He giggles, he doesn’t even know why.

Gerard gives him a small, pained smile. “The other dude probably had it coming,” he whispers, his fingers running over his cheekbone.

They stand on the sidewalk for a minute, looking fucking awkward under the streetlights, watching the cars go by. Frank digs through the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a battered pack of cigarettes. “Do you want one?” he offers, handing the pack to Gerard.

Gerard nods and grabs a smoke. “I don’t feel like walking home,” he mumbles before sticking the Camel Light between his lips.

Frank lights it for him and tucks his smokes back in his pocket. “I would take you home but my car died last week.” That fucking pot hole in front of his mom’s house finally got the best of him.

“That sucks.”

Frank isn’t sure Gerard actually gives a fuck about Frank’s car troubles and how fucked up it is now that Frank has to hitch a ride with whoever is available to go to work every morning. Gerard is probably just being polite.

“Where do you live?” Frank asks. He’s not being a first class creeper but Frank wouldn’t mind walking the guy home. After all, it’s his fault Gerard is going to look like Rocky Balboa in the morning.

Gerard doesn’t seem to want to answer. He takes a couple of drags on the cigarette and looks up and down the street again. Maybe he’s trying to decide which way to go to run the fuck away from Frank.

“I live on the Upper East Side but tonight I was supposed to stay at my parents in Belleville,” he finally says with a wince. His jaw clicks and he presses his hand over his cheek again.

“That’s where I live, too. I mean, Belleville. Not New York. We could, you know,” Frank hesitates. Jersey really is the smallest place in the world. “We could share a cab?”

Gerard can’t walk all the way to Belleville. Not in this cold. Not when it would involve going through the parts of town where crack deals always go wrong. Besides, it would take him at least an hour to get there and Frank feels kind of obligated to make sure he survives the night.

“I don’t have any money on me,” Gerard says with a pout. “I think I left my wallet in Mikey’s car.”

Frank has no fucking idea who Mikey is but he doesn’t really give a shit. “Then I’ll pay for you to get home. It’s no big deal since I was already going that way.”

Gerard removes his fingers from his bruised cheek and says, “I forgive you.”

“Yeah?”

“For punching me in the face,” Gerard adds even though Frank already knew what he meant. “I haven’t been punched in the face since...” He tilts his head and his lips move like he’s maybe counting in his head. “A fucking long time,” he finishes a minute later.

Frank grins. He finishes up his cigarette and flicks it across the pavement. They climb inside the first taxi Frank manages to flag down, roughly ten minutes after leaving the party. Gerard gives the driver his address and sits back at the far edge of the seat. He remains quiet for the better part of the drive and only gives Frank occasional glances.

“What do you do, Gerard?” Frank asks, trying to make the silence less awkward.

“Comics,” he replies, his voice muffled by his hand as he presses it over his mouth.

Frank gives him a crooked smile and says, “Cool.”

It really fucking is. Frank loves comics. He wishes Gerard would build up on this and maybe, ask Frank about his job too, but Gerard remains quiet.

The driver, a guy sporting a mullet, cranks the sound of his radio up for the rest of the ride through the streets of Belleville, and they’re stuck listening to something that doesn’t even resemble music.

Gerard’s parents live on Salter Place, which is, if Frank remembers correctly, only three blocks away from Frank’s house. Well, Frank’s mom’s to be accurate but he’s planning on moving out soon. Gerard slides off the backseat while Frank pays the cabby. Then Frank ruffles his short hair, his fingers stroking the fuzz at the nape of his neck and follows Gerard all the way up to his driveway.

“Thanks for the ride,” Gerard says, fishing inside his jacket, probably for his keys.

Frank shrugs. It’s the least he could do. He gave the guy a shiner. He should maybe buy him a drink too. Maybe another time.

Gerard walks up to the front porch, but instead of going inside the house right away, he sits down on the last step, his hands tucked in his lap.

“You work with Bob?” he asks, shifting a little to let Frank sit beside him.

“Nah. I work with Ray. I finished college a year ago and he was the only guy who would hire me with my useless psychology diploma.”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s alright. Ray is cool.”

Frank could have ended up flipping burgers or working construction like his uncle. Instead, he went inside this new guitar store on his way to practice, to buy a new strap for his Epiphone and left with a job.

“I got lucky.”

Gerard nods. “It’s really cold tonight,” he says as he picks at his cheek again.

Frank should tell him to stop touching it if he doesn’t want to look like Elephant Man by the end of the night.

“I should go inside,” Gerard says as he gets up and pulls his jacket down a bit. “I can’t offer you to come in. My parents are probably asleep by now.”

“That’s fine,” Frank says with a tiny smile. “I should head home anyway.”

Frank gets up and tucks his hands in his pockets. He’s kind of glad he came to the party after all. Gerard is a really cool guy.

“Try not to punch anyone,” Gerard mumbles as he shuffles towards the front door, his keys dangling on his fingers. “You can do serious damage.”

Frank snorts. He clenches his fists and starts backing away from Gerard. “One day, I’ll be able to tell my grand-kids about that one time I was trying to punch the biggest asshole ever and I accidentally hit a really cool guy and broke his face.”

“It’s not broken,” Gerard says with a lopsided grin before adding, “And I’m not cool.”

“I think you are.”

Gerard fucking blushes and ducks his head. He turns around and unlocks his door. “Good night,” he mumbles, giving Frank one last glance before slipping inside the house.

“Night.”

He grins and heads back onto the street. He looks left and right for a second, trying to remember which way he should go. Franklin Street is right around the corner and then there’s the dance studio where his mom used to work part time when he was a kid. He should be able to find his way home from there without getting mugged or shot.

*

The great thing about working at a music store is that Frank gets to test some of the guitars. And not just the guitars. Frank likes trying out the keyboards even though he’s shit at playing anything cool on them. Frank plays mostly by ear and reading sheet music makes him want to punch things so he just ends up improvising which doesn’t always sound great. He will try out the drum kits on occasion when Ray isn’t around to see or hear him murder the heads. Frank plays a little too hard and tends to break a lot of drumsticks.

It’s the middle of the afternoon on Thursday and Frank is strumming a few notes off Danzig’s _Mother_ on a fucking gorgeous white Epiphone Les Paul he wants to bring home because it looks just like his first guitar ever, while Ray is in a corner talking to one of their regular customers about distortion pedals, vibratos and humbuckers and all the cool technology Ray can install on demand on pretty much anything in the store.

When the bell rings, Frank looks up but keeps on strumming.

They have a customer, a guy wrapped in three layers of scarves and Frank would really love it if Ray took care of it.

But Ray is busy or maybe he just pretends to be, just to piss off Frank and make him let go of the Les Paul.

“Fine,” Frank grumbles as he puts down the guitar. Hopefully, the guy will just browse around and won’t need any advice and then Frank can come back and play more tunes.

“Hi,” the guy in the scarves says as he hands Frank a cup of coffee from Dunking Donuts. It’s the first time someone, not Ray, buys him coffee and Frank isn’t sure what he did to deserve it.

The guy starts pulling the scarves apart, slowly revealing a bruised cheek, a pair of pale, chapped lips and an upturned nose.

“Oh! Hi, Gerard.”

“This is for you,” Gerard says, struggling to take off the last of his scarves. He looks a little like a mummy taking off its bandages. “As a thank you for getting me home the other night.”

Frank takes the cup from Gerard’s hands and sniffs it, the delicious aroma of coffee making his stomach grumble. He takes a careful sip but still manages to burn his upper lip.

“Thanks,” he says, taking the lid off to blow on the coffee to cool it off. “But you really shouldn’t have. I’m the one who punched you in the fucking face. Now I owe you one.”

Gerard waves at Frank dismissively. “No no. You don’t.”

“I fucking do,” Frank insists as he walks over to the counter to put down his coffee.

Gerard follows him closely and stands like a big awkward thing across the cash register, his hands crossed behind his back and his head titled to the side.

“I thought I’d come by anyway. I wanted to make sure your fist was okay,” he mumbles, his eyes falling upon the cup of coffee and his lips curving into a smile.

“Are you serious?”

Gerard purses his lips and stares at Frank’s hand on the counter. It looks like he is, in fact, very serious.

“I’m fine. I’ve had worse,” Frank says as he shakes his hand. It doesn’t hurt too badly. “How’s your face?”

Gerard winces. “It hurts when I smile or laugh or talk,” he says, his eyes trailing to the cup of coffee once again.

“You want it?” Frank asks, pushing the cup across the counter. He can live without coffee. Besides, he already had one not ten minutes ago and he’s jittery enough as it is. It looks like Gerard needs it more. Gerard shakes his head and bites his bottom lip before reaching for the cup.

Frank laughs.

“Hey, Gee. What are you doing here?” Ray asks.

“I was. I was getting your friend some coffee,” he replies, setting the cup down in front of Frank again. “How are you?”

Ray reaches across the counter and gives Gerard a tight hug. “I’m good. So you guys are not punching each other today. That’s good.”

Frank groans and mutters, “It was an accident.”

Douchey McDouche, their only – and sadly non-paying – customer this afternoon gives Frank a smug look and chuckles. “You punched someone by accident, Shortieboy?”

Frank shoots one of his most murderous glares at the asshole and flips him off. It’s none of his fucking business what Frank does or who he punches. Besides, Frank hates it when douches give him stupid nicknames.

“Don’t be an ass. I’m a customer here and you should show me some respect,” Douchey says, still laughing his ass off even though there’s nothing funny about the fact that Frank punched Gerard by accident. Well, okay. Maybe it’s a little funny, but still, Douchey shouldn’t be in on the joke.

“Or you should just shut the hell up and go fuck yourself,” Frank snarls.

Ray puts a hand on Frank’s arm and squeezes lightly. “I’ll. I’ll call you when we get the pedal and then we can talk about the pickup,” he tells Douchey before letting go of Frank’s arm.

Douchey crooks his mouth and shrugs. He mumbles, “Yeah. Sure,” and then walks out of the store, giving Frank one last glare as he walks past him.

Fucking doucherag.

“Good job, Frankie. You’re really good handling customers,” Ray says in a calm voice.

“Oh, you know that asshole will be back and won’t be buying any of our shit anyway. It’s what he does.”

Ray doesn’t say anything else because he knows Frank is right. The douche will be back next week with more questions and will leave without buying a single thing. Frank fucking hates him. Frank turns to Gerard and finds him staring at the coffee cup again, his hands clutching the counter.

“Take the fucking coffee, Gerard. You know you want it,” Frank says, grabbing the cup and shoving it in Gerard’s hands.

Gerard’s smile widens. He grimaces and rubs his bruised cheek before taking a sip.

“I’ll buy you donuts instead,” he mumbles, his eyes shut and his head tilted back like he’s having a fucking orgasm.

“While I have you both here,” Ray says as he wraps an arm around Frank’s shoulders. “I wanted to invite you both to a party tomorrow night at my place.”

“Really?” That’s fucking stupid. Ray should know better after what happened at Bob’s last weekend.

Ray nods and his mop of hair bounces up and down with him. “Yeah. But you can’t punch anyone there.”

“I won’t.”

Actually, Frank would rather skip the whole thing and go to a bar with Hambone and get wasted. At least he won’t embarrass anyone but himself by being a so-called short tempered short asshole.

“I don’t know. I have deadlines with my publisher and—” Gerard mumbles, his nose disappearing behind the lip of his Dunkin Donuts cup.

Ray pouts, something he rarely uses on Frank unless it’s really fucking important, like that one time Ray got food poisoning and had to stay in bed three days in a row and asked Frank to cover for him.

“Come on, Gee? Frankie?”

“I don’t know. I--”

Frank could make up shit about having to go see a relative or taking his mom to the movies but Ray is usually very good at telling when Frank is trying to bullshit him. “I guess I could swing by,” he says and Ray’s face lights up with a huge grin.

Ray’s grin is pretty much amazing and Frank finds himself giggling.

“I’ll go if you go,” Gerard mumbles, his cheeks bright red, probably because it’s so fucking cold outside (and not because he’s blushing, even though that’d be adorable).

“Awesome,” Ray says, beaming as he walks back behind the counter and smacks Frank’s ass.

*

“You really don’t remember him?” Ray asks just as their last customer of the day walks out the door with a brand new, baby blue Fender bass. The thing’s a beauty and hopefully, it’s going to a good home.

“Should I?”

Frank has no fucking idea where he supposedly met Gerard before the punching incident. He would remember Gerard, unless he was baked or drunk off his ass that night, which seems to happen less and less these days. When did he become such a fucking grown up?

“He’s Mikey Way’s brother,” Ray answers, like Frank should have figured this out ages ago, like he’s just being stupid.

Frank knows _of_ Mikey Way. They’re not friends and they’ve never actually met, but Ray already told Frank so much about his friend who works as an A &R for a small record company in New York that it feels like Frank knows him.

“Gerard Way,” Frank says, hoping some kind of light bulb will switch on in his brain, but nothing happens. Maybe he heard the name before. Ray probably talked about him and how awesome his comic book was.

“He went to Queen of Peace his senior year.”

They attended the same shitty ass school but so did hundreds of people, and Frank can’t really remember any of them, except for the handful of turds who made his life a living hell for four years and cost his mom a lot of fucking money in therapy and drugs that didn’t fix him.

Frank shakes his head and Ray clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth like he always does when Frank is pissing him off.

“Gerard Way. You were a freshman and he was a senior.”

That’s probably why Frank never met him. Frank spent most of his time avoiding seniors because they were the ones shoving him inside lockers and putting his clothes down the toilet. At least Gerard wasn’t that kind of senior.

“Well, he does this comic book series and he’s really starting to make a name for himself. I told you to pick up his stuff ages ago but you never listen. Anyway, he’s a very cool guy.” Ray says, like he’s trying to make a sales pitch about Gerard. Ray’s been doing this a lot lately, trying to set Frank up with people. He probably thinks Frank needs to get back on the horse or whatever.

This time, the sales pitch isn’t necessary. Frank actually _wants_ to see Gerard and he’s looking forward to hanging out with him at Ray’s party.

*

As soon as Frank gets home, he searches every cabinet and bookshelf for his yearbook from freshman year, and groans when he can’t find anything. Seriously, they have so much shit packed everywhere, photo albums and books Frank’s read at least ten times, that it’s impossible to find anything.

His mom comes home after work and manages to locate the stupid yearbook in a record time; even though she’s looking through the same boxes Frank already looked through, like, five seconds ago.

“What are you looking for?” she asks as she hands him the faded volume. It’s wrapped in a thin coat of dust that clings to Frank’s fingertips when he flips it open.

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “Just some guy I apparently went to school with.”

His mom smiles down at him. She plants a kiss on the crown of his head and runs her fingers in his hair. “Don’t go to bed too late. I’ll drive you to work tomorrow morning if you want to.”

“Thanks, Ma. Good night.”

“Good night, pumpkin.”

She climbs up the stairs and Frank watches her disappear into her room. He’s fucking beat but he needs to find this. He needs to make sure Ray isn’t just fucking with him.

He flips the pages slowly, looks at the pictures, and laughs at the things he and Hambone scribbled over some of them. A lot of seniors are now sporting thick moustaches and monocles. The entire chess club and the basketball team have also suffered the wrath of Frank and the Sharpie of vengeance.

He’s giggling at Hambone’s picture and at how long and curly his hair was in high school when he finally finds what he had been looking for.

 _Gerard Way._

The picture is far from flattering. Gerard was bit on the chunky side and he looked terribly awkward in his school uniform, not that Frank looked any better. Nobody looks good in their school uniform. It’s some kind of rule or a curse or, whatever.

At least, Gerard is smiling on his picture. Young Gerard Way was apparently in the drama club and already a huge dork.

Then Frank vaguely remembers seeing Gerard on stage. He also remembers him as this dude who always sat by himself at lunch, at the same table, and tried very hard to make himself invisible. It never really worked out for him.

Frank stares at Gerard’s picture for a few more minutes and then flips the pages to see if there’s any picture of Gerard with the rest of the drama club. There’s none but he finds a list of plays the school produced and Gerard seems to have had the lead in most of them. Most of them happened to be musicals too.

So, Gerard was a complete dork in high school, the kind of dork that sung show tunes. No doubt, he got a lot of shit for it.

Frank smiles as he scrambles back to his feet and climbs up to his room. He keeps the yearbook on his bedside table just in case he wants to bring it to Ray’s party. It could make a nice conversation starter.

*

The party isn’t actually a party. Not the kind with a keg anyway. It’s more like a grown up dinner and Frank feels stupid and underdressed, and like he should have brought flowers or fucking wine and cheese.

When Frank gets there, it’s just Ray, his cute and awesome girlfriend Christa, and a lanky dude with glasses Frank has seen before at a few of Pencey’s shows, back when the band was still around.

“This is Mikey,” Rays says as the lanky dude holds out his hand to shake Frank’s.

“What’s up dude?” Mikey mumbles as he squeezes Frank’s hand.

“You’re _the_ Mikey Way.”

Mikey shakes his head and pulls his hand away. “And you’re _the_ Frank Iero. You used to play with Pencey Prep. I’ve been to all your shows,” Mikey says in a flat tone that means he’s probably not that impressed. “You were great.”

“We sucked. But thanks.” Frank grins like an idiot. It’s nice to know people enjoyed seeing him play, especially when it’s Mikey Way, a dude who actually knows shit about music.

Pencey wasn’t horrible but it wasn’t anything special either. It was just a bunch of friends making noise. It’s a miracle they even got a record deal but it still was the most fun Frank ever had.

“Ray told me you’re in a new band now,” Mikey says just as the bathroom door clicks open and Gerard walks out of there looking all flushed, his hair in a mess. It looks like he’s been mussing up his hair for a good thirty minutes in front of the mirror to make it look like he just rolled out of bed.

Frank gives him a quick and easy smile and turns back to Mikey.

“We just fuck around once a week in my mom’s basement.”

“I didn’t know you were in a band,” Gerard says and he looks far more impressed than Mikey.

“You know. Like every other guy in Jersey. I torture my neighbors’ ears a lot.”

“I was in a band once,” Gerard announces and Mikey rolls his eyes like this is something he’s heard so many times before. “I played guitar very badly and they kicked me out.”

Frank giggles. Gerard playing guitar looks hilarious in his head.

“He doesn’t play that bad,” Ray intervenes as he walks to the kitchen to help Christa with...Frank isn’t even sure what she’s cooking in there. Frank hopes there will be pancakes for dessert because Christa makes the best ones in all of Jersey.

Gerard shakes his head and leans in closer to Frank. He tucks Frank’s hair behind his ear and whispers, “I suck but he doesn’t want me to say. It will make him look bad since he’s the one who taught me everything.”

Gerard’s fingers slide off the shell of Frank’s ear, and Frank has to bite down on his bottom lip because it feels really nice to be touched like that.

“Tell Frank about your book signing,” Ray says, popping out of the kitchen for a second before disappearing again.

“You have a book signing?” _Fuck._ Frank is impressed. “Where is it?”

Gerard shakes his head like this isn’t a big deal. “It’s just a signing at some comic book store,” he mumbles, his cheeks flushed. “Next week. Nothing exciting.”

Frank makes a mental note to ask Ray where and when this signing is because he’d really like to show up.

*

The signing is not at _some_ comic book store. Gerard totally down played it. It’s at fucking Forbidden Planet and when Frank shows up, there’s already a decent queue inside the store, waiting to meet Gerard, their copies of whatever Gerard wrote or draw, or all the above, ready to be signed.

Frank feels like a complete fucking idiot. He buys comic books every other week, and knows a thing or two about them. And yet, he totally missed the part where Gerard, the guy he punched by accident two weeks ago, is actually famous.

There’s a girl in the line who keeps saying Gerard is some comic book genius while this other kid is dubbing him the lovechild of Frank Miller and Grant Morrison.

There’s a table set in a corner of the store, which is decorated with big cardboards cutouts of a dude wearing a cape and tights. The cutouts say, _Dork Squad: How I Survived High School by Gerard A. Way_.

The character looks a bit like Gerard if you squint, but not current-Gerard. The caped hero looks more like Gerard’s high school alter ego, a chunkier version of himself with a terrible haircut.

Some guy who works at the store (a complete doucherag who keeps staring at Frank like he knows him) makes everyone line up and then announces, “Please, only one autograph per person. No pictures. Queue jumpers will be executed.”

The line starts moving, so slow that Frank barely notices they’re actually moving. The fact that they’re moving can only mean Gerard is here now. Frank cranes his neck and jumps as he tries to get a glimpse of the man himself, the myth, the genius, Gerard motherfucking Way, through the compact crowd that’s now filing up all the way into the street.

 _Fuck._ This is insane. Frank shouldn’t even be here. He told Ray he would be gone for an hour and now he’s not sure he can make it back to work before lunch.

The line moves a bit further and Frank is now standing right next to a pile of _Dork Squad, Volume One and Two_. He grabs one of each to have something for Gerard to sign because it seems like the thing to do. It would be weird if he stood in front of Gerard and had nothing for him to sign.

He asks some girl to hold his spot in the queue while he goes to pay for his graphic novel. When he comes back, forty five dollars poorer, the queue moved and Frank is only three or four people behind the table, behind Gerard.

Frank can finally see him, all smiles and sunglasses. They make him look like a rock star or maybe a bit of a douche but Frank knows he’s neither. He’s probably just trying to hide the black eye Frank gave him, even though it’s barely noticeable now.

Gerard is signing comic book after comic book, quick, like it’s something he does a lot, without even looking at what he’s scribbling. He nods, chats for less than five seconds, shakes hands and then moves on to the next person.

Then it’s Frank’s turn to be in front of Gerard and something stirs in his stomach. There’s absolutely no reason why he should feel nervous around Gerard. They already know each other. Hell, Frank never even read Gerard’s book. He shouldn’t be all star struck but there he is, his palms sweaty, his stomach doing back flips and his heart racing in his chest.

“Could you make it to Frank,” he manages to say in a tiny voice as he pushes his brand new edition of Dork Squad Volume one across the table.

“What are you doing here?” Gerard asks and his smile vanishes. He takes off his sunglasses and pushes them up on the crown of his head. He grabs the comic book and hesitates before signing it. He doesn’t make it to Frank but still scribbles his signature in a corner of the title page.

“I just wanted to say hi.”

“This is work, Frank,” he says, his voice cold, like nothing Frank’s ever heard before. “I can’t talk to you right now.”

Frank gets it. Gerard is at work and there’s a huge line of people behind Frank and he’s probably not looking forward to the rest of his morning right now.

“I can wait until you’re done,” Frank says with a small smile. Maybe they could go for a coffee or get lunch together when Gerard’s done. “I just wanted to read your comics. I was curious and—”

Gerard cuts him off by shoving Frank’s comic book back at him. “I can’t talk to you now. Not today. I’m sorry, Frank.”

There’s definitely something off about Gerard and it’s not just the stress of being at work or of being stuck behind this desk for the next three or four hours. No. There’s something else. He feels distant. Maybe he’s pissed off at Frank for showing up like this when he didn’t want him to come in the first place.

Frank grabs his signed comic book and tucks it under his arm. “It’s ok. I mean, I’ll see you later, right?”

Gerard nods. “Right. Next?”

Frank takes a side step and lets some kid have his spot in front of the desk.

Gerard keeps his head down while he’s signing the kid’s copy of Dork Squad and doesn’t look up as he’s talking to him. He looks really pale now. He almost looks like he’s going to be sick or something.

*

Frank makes it back to work just in time for his lunch break. He sits back behind the cash register and starts reading the Dork Squad while Ray pops out to get them something from the pizza place across the street.

The plot is kind of awesome because it tells the tale of this giant loser, a kid named George who gets superpowers when bullies drop him from the roof of the gym and he lands in this truck that’s carrying biohazard waste. The cool part is that George develops the power to make himself invisible which is awesome because he gets his revenge on the bullies and then decides to become a vigilante at school.

By the time Ray comes back with their pizza – half veggie delight for Frank and half pepperoni for Ray – Frank is almost done with the first volume. He can’t get enough of it and how funny the story is, but there’s also something very weird about Gerard’s comic.

“Have you ever read that?” he mumbles, reaching for the pizza box on the counter. His fingers close around nothing but he’s too busy reading to move towards his food.

Ray hums and puts a slice of Frank’s veggie delight on a napkin and then places it right in the palm of Frank’s hand.

“Did you know there was this kid in it called Jamie?”

Ray hums again.

Jamie is one of the first kids George saves from bullies, this very short kid who is funny and cool, and George totally has the biggest crush on him. Jamie is basically Gerard’s very twisted version of the damsel in distress, but with a penis.

“Why does he look like me?”

Frank would have been fine with the kid just listening to the same music and dressing like he did in high school, but Jamie looks exactly like him. The first time Frank saw him, he did a fucking double take because it felt too fucking weird. Jamie has the same hair, the same face, eyebrows and nose and eyes and fucking everything down to the stupid hair Frank had when he was a freshman.

Frank looks up from the comic and stares at Ray, hoping to get some kind of explanation but all he gets is another hum.

“I mean, like me back in high school. Not me, me. Have you seen this fucking thing?”

Ray shrugs. “I’ve read it,” he finally says, taking a break from devouring his pepperoni pizza to raise an eyebrow at Frank. “Do you like it?”

He likes it but that’s not the point. “That’s not the fucking point.”

Frank drops his half eaten pizza back on the counter and wipes his hands on his jeans. He flips the pages to this panel where Jamie gets shoved inside a locker and George lets him out and then there’s a lot of pining and _fuck_.

This is too close to home – the locker shoving part, not the pining, although Frank had his share of unrequited love like every kid his age.

“Should I sue him for making me into a pussy?” he asks, closing the first volume and picking up the rest of his pizza off the counter.

“He didn’t make you into a pussy,” Ray answers, and Frank might have to punch him in the nuts if he says Frank was always a pussy. “These are just characters.”

“Yeah, right.”

Except Jamie isn’t just a character. Frank isn’t that stupid. Jamie _is_ Frank.

There’s an issue where Jamie breaks his toes in the mosh pit at a rock show and then has to wear a cast at school and gets his crutches stolen. That never happened to Frank, right? Except it did happen and Frank isn’t sure he should feel freaked out or flattered that Gerard actually made him into a comic book character.

*

Frank finishes the second volume when he gets home after work instead of eating dinner with his mom or going to bed at a decent hour.

The next morning, the first thing he does is going to his usual comic book store to buy the current issue of the Dork Squad.

In this new issue, George’s best friend Dan (he’s totally Ray but with shorter hair and ridiculous glasses) develops his own superpower, something very geeky to do with electronics that would be completely lame if Gerard didn’t make everything so awesome and funny.

There’s also a tiny bit about Jamie and his inability to stay out of trouble. Apparently, it’s something George loves about him because it gives him something to do, some kind of mission: _Prevent the untimely death of the cute punk kid he has a crush on by any means necessary._

When Frank gets to work, he slams the comic over the counter, right under Ray’s nose and open on the first page.

Then he watches Ray’s face, hoping to see some indignation there or maybe confusion, but instead Ray laughs like an asshole and mumbles, “That Dan is pretty cool, isn’t he?”

Frank studies one of the panels in which Dan is wearing a Metallica t-shirt. Ray went with an Iron Maiden one today so they’re definitely not the same person. _Not at all._

“I think you should give me Gerard’s number,” Frank says before picking up his comic book and wedging it in his messenger bag with Volume one and two of the Dork Squad and his high school yearbook, which he decided to bring along just in case he needed some evidence.

The bell rings and their first customer walks in, a stoner who shows up once or twice a month to buy the same brand of strings.

“Are you gonna bitch at him about the comic?” Ray asks Frank before turning to the customer. “Ernie Ball Plain Steel 0.13,” he says because that’s what the guy always buys and they might as well cut to the chase.

The guy nods and adds, “I’ll take three.”

Ray grabs them from the shelf behind him and drops them into a plastic bag, eyeing Frank suspiciously. “I think you should be flattered he included you in his comic. I know I am.”

Frank is flattered. He really is. But he’s still a bit confused about the whole thing. It’s just so weird to think Gerard noticed him in high school and watched him long enough that he knew every last one of Frank’s quirks and habits. They weren’t even friends or in the same grade.

“Three dollars,” Ray says even though the guy knows how much the strings are. Ray gives him one of his most professional smiles and serves him the usual, “Nice doing business with you. Come again soon.”

The guy waves on his way out and Frank waves back even though the guy can’t see it. It just feels more polite.

“I thought you guys were getting along great the other night,” Ray says as soon as the bell rings again, and he’s right. “You didn’t punch him or anything.”

They got along great, almost like they’ve been friends longer than a couple of weeks but it might be because Gerard is very easy to get along with.

“Gerard is a very nice dude and you shouldn’t be an asshole to him. I could fire you, you know?”

“I wasn’t planning on being an asshole. I’m not always an asshole.”

He’s not. He’s an okay guy when you don’t fuck with him or insult his family or shit on his favorite band.

Ray rolls his eyes.

Frank flips him off because he doesn’t appreciate being called an asshole, even when it’s not in so many words.

“Anyway, I already gave Gerard your number,” Ray announces, all casual when it’s actually important.

“You did?”

“Yeah, but knowing Gerard, he won’t call. It’s nothing personal. He’s not very fond of calling people,” Ray says with a shrug.

Then, what’s the fucking point of giving him Frank’s number? _The fuck._ Gerard is a fucking idiot. Ray too for that matter. Frank doesn’t say this out loud because he’s trying to get something from Ray and insulting him wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“Great. Then give me his number. I won’t be an asshole, I fucking swear to God.”

Frank’s ready to plead his case and he’s not above making puppy dogs eyes at Ray or pouting for the rest of the day, but Ray lets him off the hook pretty easily.

“Fine,” he says as he searches his jacket pockets for his phone. He flips it open, grabs a napkin from under the counter they probably forgot from that day they had Chinese for lunch and writes down Gerard’s number in a corner.

“Thanks,” Frank says as he grabs the napkin and grins at Ray.

“Don’t be an asshole, Frankie.”

Frank waves at him before slipping out to the storage room. He digs out his pack of smokes from the back pocket of his jeans and sits down on top of one of the cardboard boxes piled up next to the back door.

He wanted to take a cigarette break anyway since he didn’t have time to even stop for one minute this morning so he might as well kill two birds with one stone. He cracks the back door ajar so Ray doesn’t give him too much shit about smoking inside and then lights one up. It’s too fucking cold to smoke outside anyway.

His phone feels weird in his hand, too heavy as he picks it up and finally calls Gerard. He’s not expecting Gerard to pick up since Gerard doesn’t like phones or some bullshit like that, and he’s not really surprised when his call gets to voicemail after three rings. He clears his throat and takes a drag on his cigarette before starting to speak, his voice gruff.

“Hey. So, erm. It’s Frank. I just wanted to see if you were busy tonight. I get off work at six and there’s a coffee place down the street from the store. You know? The one where you got your coffee the other day?” Frank has to think about the name of the place for a second even though it’s something really easy and obvious. “Dunkin Donuts. Erm. So yeah. I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee with me there.”

He pauses, takes another long drag and then adds, “Call me back to let me know, or don’t. It’s fine either way. I just think it would be pretty rad if you came.”

Since he’s not sure what else to say, Frank sighs, blows a puff of smoke through the crack in the door and then shrugs. _That’s it._ He hangs up and then stares at his phone for a few seconds.

Maybe he should have said something about the comic book, but maybe it’s better he didn’t. He doesn’t want to scare Gerard away now. Hopefully, Gerard will show up and they can talk about it like fucking adults.

*  
Frank takes off his fingerless gloves (he should get real gloves because these are kind of pointless in this weather and his fingers are a nice shade of blue now) and shrugs off his jacket. He runs a hand through his hair and sniffles. He cannot feel his nose anymore and his cheeks feel like they’re on fire because it was fucking freezing outside and it’s like a sauna in here.

Gerard is already there, sat at one of the tables, sipping his coffee and staring at his fingers.

Frank drops his bag and his jacket on the seat across from him and that’s when Gerard notices him.

He shifts in his chair, looking ill at ease, and gives Frank a curious look, like he’s not really sure Frank isn’t here to bite his head off.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Frank smiles, points at Gerard’s coffee and asks, “Do you want another one?”

Gerard nods and returns Frank’s smile. “Thank you.”

There’s only one barista working here tonight and she looks fucking annoyed when she sees Frank walking up to her. Frank totally gets it though. She’s probably biding her time until she can fuck off home. Frank orders himself a black raspberry tea because it doesn’t require the barista to do much besides pour hot water in a cup, and turns to Gerard to ask him how he likes his coffee.

“Black,” Gerard answers, his hands clenched around his Styrofoam cup, so tight he might break it.

He looks so fucking jumpy already that Frank is seriously considering switching Gerard’s black coffee for a decaf, but Gerard would probably notice. When Frank sits down, Gerard reaches out and grabs his cup from Frank’s hand like he cannot wait and needs caffeine to live.

“Easy there, tiger.” Frank laughs and lets go of the cup easily.

Gerard ducks his head and mumbles a barely audible, “’m sorry.”

“How long have you been waiting?” Frank asks when he notices not one, but two empty cups in front of Gerard. Frank’s not late. He fucking made sure of that, so it’s probably Gerard who got there too early.

Gerard shrugs and stacks up the empty cups. “Not long.” He looks into his coffee for a minute, quiet but still very on edge, shifting on his chair and tapping the tabletop with his fingers.

Frank pours two packets of sugar in his tea because that’s the only way he likes it; when it tastes like sugar with a subtle hint of fruit and nothing else. That’s probably not very healthy, but who the fuck cares? He takes a careful sip, watching Gerard squirm on his chair, and asks, “Everything alright?”

Gerard takes a taste of his coffee and grimaces. “Why did you want to see me?”

“I wanted to get some coffee with you and maybe talk for a bit.”

“I’m sorry about the other day,” Gerard says as he looks up at Frank. He stares into Frank’s eyes, bites his lower lip and mumbles, “At the comic book store. I was rude.”

“No, I get it,” Frank says with a smile. “You were working. I can get extra cranky when I’m in work mode. Some days I just want to murder the customers.”

Frank crosses his legs and accidentally bumps his knee against the table. He barely misses knocking their drinks off the table and mutters an apology that Gerard doesn’t seem to hear. Instead he stares at the small drops of coffee spilt around his cup on the table for a moment before finally asking, “Did you read it?”

“I did.” Frank pulls out a random Volume of Dork Squad and pushes it across the table. He opens it to one of the panels that has Jamie in it and says, “I was wondering about something.”

Gerard grabs the comic book and closes it without even looking at it. “You wanted to know about Jamie.”

 _Straight to the point._ Frank wasn’t expecting that at all from Gerard. He was expecting more dancing around and metaphors but this is better.

“Yeah. Is he…? Erm. Is he me?”

Frank feels stupid for asking this now. What if he’s got this completely wrong and he’s making an ass out of himself?

“Yes and no.”

Frank smiles. _That_ , he was expecting. “Ok. Care to elaborate?”

Gerard waves at the comic book and says, “He’s a fictional character but he’s based a lot on you, back when you were in high school.”

“I figured that. Did we know each other back in high school? I just don’t remember us hanging out.”

Gerard ducks his head and hides behind his tall black coffee. “Not really,” he answers quietly. “We weren’t friends but I kept seeing you everywhere. I thought you looked interesting.”

Now, Frank can’t deny he’s flattered. A guy he barely knew found him interesting. He found Frank so fucking interesting that he remembered him years later and decided to make him into a comic book character.

“I think it’s awesome,” Frank mumbles, his cheeks still burning. This time it’s not because he’s hot. It’s because he’s blushing like a twelve year old girl.

“You do?” Gerard asks, looking genuinely surprised. “I thought you’d be pissed off.”

“Fuck no. I was just curious and a bit freaked out at first but yeah, now I’m cool with it.” Frank pauses and looks down at his bag. “I looked you up in an old yearbook because Ray said we went to school together. That was interesting.”

Gerard puts his face in his hands and shakes his head. “Oh God, no,” he mumbles.

Frank doesn’t take the yearbook out of his bag. It’s kind of useless now and Gerard looks embarrassed enough as it is. Instead, he puts his comic book away and quickly changes the subject.

“I talked to the guys and they said you could come to our next practice.”

They weren’t really thrilled because they have this rule about not bringing dates to band practices but Frank managed to convince them Gerard wasn’t a date. He doesn’t even get why they thought he was in the first place.

“That would be amazing,” Gerard says, looking a bit more relaxed now; at least the squirming and the tapping stopped. “Thanks.”

Frank turns and stares out of window at the flurries that are now sticking to the frozen sidewalks.

It’s snowing again. Frank fucking hates the snow because it means he’s going to be trapped in his mom’s house all weekend like a fucking loser and then he’ll have to shovel the driveway on Monday so she can take him to work. His life is so fucking exciting sometimes he can barely stand it.

“I should head back,” he says, finishing his tea in one gulp. “The snow is really coming down now.”

Gerard gives him a timid smile and asks, “Do you need a ride? I borrowed Mikey’s car today.”

It’s an offer Frank cannot refuse. Ray already went home and Frank doesn’t want to call his mom and ask her to pick him up. Not with the snow and the icy roads.

They get up and Gerard starts wrapping himself up in his multi-layered scarves like a mummy.

“So you’re living with your mom,” he asks, his voice muted by the thick fabric.

Frank nods. “For now. I had my own place but then my girlfriend kicked me out. I’m looking for a new place now.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t worry.”

Actually, what happened is that Frank’s girlfriend of three years broke up with him because he wasn’t ambitious enough or because he never did his laundry. It was one or the other but Frank isn’t sure what got him in trouble. Since they were living together, one of them had to go.

She took most of the furniture with her because it was hers. The kitchen table was some family heirloom and so were the chairs and even the fucking bed. She took a few things that were Frank’s too, probably because she hated his guts, and knowing he wouldn’t be able to listen to his vinyls anymore was her way to screw him up even further.

Frank tried to get a roommate so he wouldn’t have to leave too, but everyone who showed up to rent the extra room was either an asshole or a dumbshit. After a while, Frank couldn’t afford the rent anymore and he had to move back with his mom. Simple as that.

“I might know someone who’s looking for a new roommate. I could ask around for you,” Gerard says as he holds the door open for Frank like a fucking gentleman.

“Apparently, I’m not very easy to live with,” Frank says because that’s something he heard before from his roommate in college. He doesn’t want Gerard to vouch for him and then fuck it up by being a doucherag.

“I’m sure you’re easy,” Gerard mumbles.

They’ve almost reached the car when Gerard stops dead in his tracks. His face flushes and his eyes widen. He turns to Frank and shakes his head like he just said the stupidest thing.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sure you’re not easy. I mean, I don’t know.” Gerard’s face is now bright red.

Frank laughs so hard his stomach hurts. He grabs Gerard’s forearm and pats it. “I’ve never been called a slut before. That’s very new to me.”

Gerard joins Frank, his laugh loud and high pitched. They get into the car and Gerard fumbles with the keys. It’s so fucking cold inside the car that Frank’s breath steams the windows almost immediately.

The roads are not too bad but they’re still slippery.

Gerard drives like Frank’s grandma the entire way to Belleville which is probably why they don’t crash into a telephone pole or hit another car. He drops Frank right in front of his driveway twenty minutes later, helping Frank to disentangle himself from his seatbelt.

“Can Mikey come?” he asks just as Frank is climbing out of the car.

Frank’s feet slip on a patch of ice and he has to grab onto the car door to stay vertical. “Hm? What?”

“To the practice. I know he would love to see you guys play. But if it’s too much trouble—”

“No. He can come too.” Frank doesn’t really see any problem with that. Gerard was already approved by his band mates so Mikey shouldn’t be a problem.

*

Having Gerard and Mikey sit in on their band practice makes everyone a bit nervous at first, especially Frank since he hasn’t played in front of an audience in so fucking long, but it also ends up being a great idea. Mikey likes their sound so much that he gets them a show.

It’s at a tiny club in downtown Newark, a place that’s barely bigger than Frank’s basement which makes it easier because it’s not a huge change; except there are a lot of people there, all crammed into such a minuscule space, the air stuffy and smelling of tobacco, sweat and beer.

Frank scans the club a few minutes before he has to go up on stage and tries to find a familiar face. It would make him feel so much better if he actually knew anyone down there. He finds Mikey sitting at the bar talking to a cute girl. He even finds Bob, Ray’s friend from that house party a few weeks ago. He finds Ray and Christa standing in one corner, waving at him and mouthing a silent “break a leg.”

Everyone Frank knows seems to be here tonight except his blood relatives because he didn’t want the bar to be an all Iero family reunion. Gerard isn’t here either which is kind of disappointing, and upsets Frank more than it should.

Frank runs off to the bathroom and pukes from the nerves, just like he did before most of the shows with Pencey ten years ago. Some things never change. He splashes water on his face, takes a couple of deep breaths and then gets out there.

They play a short set, five songs; two covers (Black Flag and The Jim Carroll Band) and two Pencey songs which both sound weird without Shaun on the keyboards. They don’t have a lot of new material so they play only one new song, but the kids seem really into it.

While he’s in the middle of the bridge of one of the songs, Frank remembers how good it feels to be up there, thrashing around and playing until his fingers bleed and screaming until his throat is raw. Maybe he shouldn’t have given up that easily on his dream to make music when everything went to shit with Pencey Prep.

When he walks off the stage, still wired and ready to go again if the owner of the club asks, Ray is there to congratulate him with a cold beer and a huge grin.

“You did good,” he says, pulling Frank for a hug.

Frank shakes hands with a couple of guys who seem to be completely in love with the band’s rendition of People Who Died even though Frank’s vocals were complete shit in that, and grabs a smoke with another who says he’s working for a rival music store and wants to sell Frank a new guitar. Then Frank searches the club in the hopes Gerard was there all along and saw him play.

“This is my friend Annie,” Christa says, pulling this very cute brunette out of the crowd and pushing her towards Frank.

Annie smiles up at Frank (because apparently, Christa’s friend is shorter than Frank. Where did she find her?), and she’s even cuter now that she’s smiling.

“Hey there,” she says, her voice barely loud enough to rise above the commotion. “You were awesome.”

“Thanks. I’m Frank,” he says, glancing at the crowd because he thinks he might have seen someone who looked like Gerard by the bar.

“I know,” Annie replies, her smile blossoming into a full blown grin. “Ray told me about you.”

This feels like a trap; a very cute trap but a trap nonetheless. It’s another one of Ray’s attempts to find Frank a date, except he’s not even trying to be subtle about it this time. Ray and Christa disappear as soon as the introductions have been made.

There are too many people here tonight and Frank is starting to feel a little claustrophobic by the time the next band starts their set. There are bodies pushing him around, pressing against his sides, shoving his back against the stage. He is left stranded in a tight spot right in the middle of the pit, talking to this very nice and very cute girl about music and punk rock bands and tattoos (because the girl’s cousin happens to be a tattoo artist Frank knows).

She’s also very drunk. Frank notices as soon as they both stumble out of the club and into the parking lot to share a smoke.

Frank could be an asshole. He could flirt with her and see where it leads but he’s not really looking for this. He’s not looking for a quick and easy lay with a girl who won’t remember him the next day.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells her as she leans against the side of a beat up van. “I’m taking you home.”

That’s how he ends up borrowing Hambone’s car and driving up to West Orange on a Saturday night with a drunken girl half asleep in the passenger seat when he should be at the club, ripping the benefits of his momentary glory, getting free booze for his effort and pats on the back from his friends.

He gets Annie back to her tiny apartment and makes sure she’s safely tucked into bed before driving back to the club. He leaves her his number because she asks for it. She probably won’t remember him tomorrow but Frank writes it down on a post it note, draws a smiley face in the top right corner, and sticks it to her fridge.

When Frank gives Hambone his keys back twenty minutes later, he finds him at a table with Pedicone, Matt and Mikey.

They’re not talking about band stuff, potential record deals, managers, booking agents; which is good because Frank doesn’t really want to talk about that tonight. They’re discussing movie monsters and giant animals and which one would win in a fight to the death, a subject Frank knows a lot more about.

“You just missed Gerard,” Mikey mumbles as he hands Frank a bottle of beer and shifts on the bench to let Frank sit.

So, _he was here._ “Why did he leave so early? I didn’t even get to say hi.”

“I told him you were with a girl,” Hambone says with a shrug.

Frank doesn’t have to explain himself and yet, he feels he needs to clear the air. “Fuck you. I was just taking her home.”

“He had a thing,” Mikey says, looking just as impassive as usual. “He was really happy to see you play tonight, though.”

Frank would have loved to talk to Gerard tonight. He would have loved to hang out and have a beer or two with him. He would have loved to talk to him about Jamie and how his character should totally be starting a band, just like Frank did as a teenager.

*

Frank doesn’t hear from Gerard for a couple of weeks after that. He figures Gerard is busy with his comic book and doesn’t ask around about him, not to Ray, not to Mikey. He tries to call a couple of times but Gerard never picks up. He leaves a message, asking Gerard to call him back and give him some news, but Gerard never does.

Monday rolls up and Frank has to go back to work after a weekend of doing nothing but watching shitty movies on cable, reality shows about girls with fake tans and fake boobs, and playing video games with Hambone.

He gets to the store ten minutes late because his mom’s car wouldn’t start this morning and needed to be defrosted. He’s not really surprised when he finds Ray and Mikey browsing through the guitars, Ray showing off his musical skills to a very pokerfaced Mikey.

“My brother is mad at you,” Mikey says without any form of greeting. He puts down the Fender Strat bass he was fiddling with back on its stand and shuffles up to the counter where Frank is struggling to remove his gloves.

“What did you do to him?” Ray asks, punctuating this by a killer riff and a death glare in Frank’s direction.

That’s just fucking ridiculous. Frank didn’t do shit to make Gerard angry. “I didn’t do anything,” he says, blowing on the tips of his fingers to warm them up. “I haven’t talked to him in two weeks.”

Mikey mumbles, “Maybe that’s it. Why didn’t you call him?”

“I did. He didn’t pick up,” Frank says, feeling increasingly pissed off because he didn’t do anything wrong, and _seriously_ , people need to stop thinking everything is always his fucking fault. “I don’t get him. He brings me coffee when I punch him, gets mad at me when I try to support him, shows up when he thinks I’m mad at him, and now he’s mad when he’s the one ignoring me? What, is he just a sucker for punishment?”

Mikey purses his lips and shrugs.

“Whatever, tell him I’m pissed off, then. Maybe he’ll fucking pick up his phone”

A couple of customers come in, a girl who can’t be more than ten and a balding middle aged guy who might be her father. They get these sometimes, parents buying their kids their first instrument. Frank is usually the one to deal with them because he just loves seeing how excited the kids are when they pick a guitar or sit being a kit for the first time. But this time, Ray waves at him to stay behind the counter and puts down his guitar to greet the customers with a smile.

“What are you even doing here, Mikey?” Frank asks when he realizes Mikey is still standing here, his knobby knees bent together and his eyebrow quirked. “Are you here to tell me I pissed off your brother because…I don’t know, I didn’t breathe right?”

“No. I was here to talk to you about something,” he replies in a low voice. Then he looks past Frank at nothing in particular and starts rambling, “Is there a wrong way to breathe? Like, breathing through the ears. That would be weird. Or breathing through your eyeballs.”

“Something Gerard related?” Frank asks with a snap of his fingers under Mikey’s nose.

Mikey shakes his head. Maybe it’s about the band. Maybe they’re not that great and he already regrets putting them on the bill the other night.

“It’s something roommate related,” Mikey eventually mumbles, the faint hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Gerard told me you were looking for a place.”

*

It’s kind of funny, or maybe a little sad, how most of what Frank owns can fit in two heavy duty trash bags. He doesn’t have any furniture to take with him, just clothes, records, his X-Box, toiletries, a few books and a couple of vintage posters. He throws everything in the back of Mikey’s car on Friday afternoon and goes back inside the house to kiss his mom.

Even though he’s not moving at the other end of the country, his mom hugs him and tells him to call as soon as he’s settled in. He gets a bit teary at this, not because he’s a pussy but because he’ll miss his mom’s cooking. And, _fine_ , he’s going to miss his mom a lot too.

Mikey’s place is only a ten-minute drive away from her house and a three-minute walk to Ray’s store which makes it perfect, or close enough. He won’t have to depend on anyone to get to work now.

Frank doesn’t visit the apartment before moving in. He doesn’t need to. He trusts Mikey wouldn’t screw him over. Mikey said the room was cheap, a little small but not too small, and that’s all Frank really needs to know.

According to Mikey, his previous roommate kept the room pretty neat, so Frank thinks he shouldn’t have too much work making it his own. New bed sheets and his Black Flag poster above the bed and he should be settled in just fine.

One thing he learns about Mikey the day they start living together is that Mikey’s sense of what’s neat and what’s dirty differs slightly from Frank’s.

Frank takes a step inside his new room and _lo and be-fucking-hold_ , the floor is sticky, like someone spilled Coke all over it. He turns around to ask Mikey what’s up with that but Mikey’s already gone off to fuck knows where, and has been replaced by his brother.

Gerard is just standing there on the threshold, staring at Frank’s feet with an inquisitive look.

“Oh. Hey,” Frank says, as he throws his trash bags onto the mattress. He had no idea Gerard was supposed to drop by. He didn’t even hear him come in which might be because Gerard isn’t wearing any shoes.

Gerard hums and shuffles his feet. “Hey.”

Frank tests the bed, bounces up on it a couple of times. It’s not too shabby, a little softer than his bed at home but Frank’s slept in worse places than this, namely the backseat of the Pencey van or the floor at Hambone’s.

“You’re all moved in?” Gerard asks, his socked feet sticking to the floor as he slowly makes his way to Frank.

“I don’t know. I need to find something to clean all that shit off the floor first,” Frank says as he jumps off the bed and starts emptying his trash bags onto the mattress.

Everything looks okay. His clothes are a bit wrinkled and his posters are sort of crumpled but they already were before he shoved them in Mikey’s car. He probably forgot a few things at his mom’s but it’s not like he can’t go back and get them later.

Gerard picks up one of Frank’s t-shirts and mutters, “Jawbreaker. Fucking rad as hell.” He throws it back onto the pile and says, “I don’t think Mikey even owns a broom.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Gerard shakes his head and shrugs. “I think Wade took it with him when he moved out. Or maybe they never had one in the first place. I don’t know.”

Frank grimaces. He could ask his mom to drop all of her cleaning supplies later tonight or he could just knock on his new neighbors’ door and see if they have anything he could use to make this place a little less like a pigsty.

Gerard slumps onto the mattress, rummages through Frank’s things like everything Frank owns is just so fucking interesting, and asks, “Who was the girl you went home with the other night?”

“I didn’t. I mean,” he says with a wide hand gesture, “she’s one of Christa’s friends. She was drunk so I drove her home and then went back to the club.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You were already gone by the time I got back. Mikey told me you had a thing.”

Gerard bites his bottom lip and mumbles, “Sorry, I had to go home. You were great by the way. You fucking killed it.”

“Why didn’t you call me back?” Frank asks as he unrolls his Black Flag poster and starts taping it to the wall, over the already existing pieces of scotch tape.

He must put it up a little screwed because Gerard makes a face and cocks his head to the side.

“I don’t know,” he replies, his nose scrunched up. “I was just busy.”

Frank doesn’t want to start a fight. He doesn’t want to tell Gerard how much of an asshole he is because it would have taken him two minutes to tell Frank just that. Busy isn’t an excuse for behaving like a douche. He opens his mouth to make a snappy comment about it when Gerard cuts him off.

“I had a crush on you back in high school,” Gerard announces like it’s not a big deal, like it’s just the next thing on the agenda. _First, we make up and then we talk about our feelings._

“Yeah?”

This isn’t really unexpected. Frank isn’t an oblivious ass. The way Gerard drew him in the comics leaves very little doubt about the nature of his feelings back in high school. He must have studied Frank for hours to notice the smallest details like the exact location of Frank’s freckles and his chicken pox scar. He must have watched him a hell of a lot and asked around about him to know what classes Frank took and how he broke his toes. Gerard had a fucking huge crush on him; so huge it was probably visible from space. _Had._ As in, not anymore.

For some reason, Frank is a little upset by this. It’s not that he wanted Gerard to still be head over heels for him ten years later but it wouldn’t have been nice.

Gerard waves at Frank to adjust the poster and says, “The left corner is too high,” and then Frank figures they’re done talking about this.

By the time Mikey comes back, carrying a few grocery bags with him, Frank managed to put all of his clothes inside the tiny closet and all of his books up on the shelves, in alphabetical order.

Gerard was very helpful and had opinions about every single one of Frank’s comic books.

“I got three different kinds of beer in case you don’t like the cheap stuff,” Mikey says, popping inside Frank’s room for just a second.

“I love all kinds of beer,” Frank says even though he’s not sure why Mikey decided to go shopping for beer and chips and plastic cups instead of helping him settle in. Not that he needed help.

“You’re having a house warming party?” Gerard asks Frank.

Of course, Gerard is barking up at the wrong tree because Frank has no fucking idea what’s going on. But Mikey can’t answer because he is already on his phone, inviting the entire Tri-State area to their house warming shindig.

Frank shrugs and replies, “Apparently.”

*

Frank isn’t sure how he ends up sleeping on the couch for his first night in his new apartment but he knows it has something to do with Gerard and how much they both drank.

The couch smells like feet and puke. When Frank tries to get up, he notices someone’s arm is wrapped around his chest, clinging to his t-shirt. There’s also a guy asleep at the foot of the couch, one of Mikey’s friends, a guy Frank met last night but can’t remember the name.

It was pretty crazy last night, from what little her remembers. There was a fuckton of beer involved, some pot and two bottles of Whisky, which is strange because Frank isn’t even hungover. He remembers Gerard throwing up on the already disgusting linoleum floor of his new room.

Maybe it’s the reason why he slept out here in the living room instead of using his own bed. Actually, Frank is pretty sure it’s the only logical explanation. The stench must have chased him out there.

Frank stares down at the hand twisted in the fabric of his t-shirt. His eyes travel up an elbow and to a shoulder and then Frank notices the mussed mop of hair and the pale skin.

His stomach does a weird flip and he feels something warm stir in his groin.

He slept with Gerard. _Ok_. That’s not something he should freak out about. It’s not like they fucked. Frank would remember fucking. He would remember being fucked too. Frank probably just passed out at some point and didn’t notice Gerard was already there.

Frank is in his boxer shorts, though, and it’s a little chilly in the living room. He sits up and Gerard’s hand slides down to Frank’s dick.

Frank lets out a tiny hiccup and grabs Gerard’s hand and promptly pulls it off his junk. He doesn’t need to get a boner right here and right now. Then he starts looking for his pants. He finds them rolled up into a ball at the top of the couch. He gets dressed, climbs over the sleeping dude on the floor and stumbles to the kitchen to get something to drink.

He catches his reflection in the mirror up in the hallway and stops to examine the giant hickey he’s now sporting on his neck. It’s purple and there are teeth marks all around it and _fuck_. Did he make out with a vampire last night?

He doesn’t remember making out with anyone. It sucks because Frank usually likes remembering that kind of thing. And now he’s going to have to wear scarves and fucking ugly turtlenecks to hide something he doesn’t even remember getting. That is just fucked up.

*

Mikey Way is a peculiar dude.

Frank saves him from electrocution twice in their first week of cohabitation. There’s also an incident with a kettle where Mikey forgets it overnight and almost burns down the entire apartment. Then there’s an incident with a toaster, which could have been much worse if Frank hadn’t grabbed the appliance from Mikey’s hands right before Mikey tried to insert a fork in it.

But there’s something even weirder than Mikey and his inability to function like an adult, and it’s that his brother is always around. Gerard is around when Frank gets off work and sometimes, he’s there when Frank wakes up in the morning. He’s in his kitchen, in his bathroom, although that’s a little more sporadic. He borrows things from Frank too, comic books Frank is sure Gerard has already read before, records, magazines. He eats his food and acts like they’re roommates even though Gerard doesn’t pay any rent.

Gerard always has a good reason to be here and Frank doesn’t even question it, especially because he suspects Gerard is the only reason Mikey’s still alive. So having Gerard around is not really a bad thing. Frank likes it. But it’s still weird.

“Don’t you have a place to live?” he asks Gerard one morning over a bowl of Frankenberry.

Gerard looks up and mumbles something through his mouthful of cereal but Frank doesn’t get it.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Mikey says as he appears out of his room, phone in hand and hair in disarray. “It’s gross.”

Gerard mumbles something else that’s a bit clearer this time; something that sounds like “your face is gross,” but Frank can’t be completely sure.

Frank loves watching Gerard and Mikey interact. It makes him a little sad he never had a brother but it’s always entertaining to see them bicker.

“Hey Frankie, Mikey says, grabbing a bowl from the cupboard and stealing from Frank’s box of Frankenberry like his brother did not ten minutes ago. “Would you like to play another show next weekend?”

“Fuck yeah.” He’d have to ask the guys if they’re up for it but there’s no reason why they wouldn’t be. “Where?”

“A friend of mine owns this really cool club in Newark.”

It seems like Mikey has a lot of friends all over Jersey who either own clubs or bars or record labels. Maybe Frank should ask him to become the band’s official manager at some point even though they might not be able to pay him for his efforts.

*

The show is bigger this time. They have to open for a local band that Frank has actually heard of before. They have an album out and all, which makes this gig feel even more legitimate and important.

Frank gets really sick the morning of the show. It’s always the kind of stuff that happens to him. It’s probably just the nerves but still, it sucks and he has to go to work even though his stomach won’t hold anything.

He also makes it to sound check a few hours later, feeling like he’s about to pass out; but he cannot fucking miss this show. It’s too important for the band, and Hambone might very well stab him in the face if Frank fucks this one up for them.

Since he’s rather fond of his face, Frank spends the last couple of hours leading up to the show in a bathroom stall, puking his lunch and dinner, and trying to remember that it’s just a show and that everything will be great as soon as he’ll hit the stage.

Gerard is there for moral support which is great but could be so much better if Frank didn’t have barf breath and the strange urge to grab Gerard by the collar and make out with him to ease up some of the stress.

“I can tell the guys you’re too sick. You don’t have to do this,” Gerard says as he pats Frank on the shoulder and starts stroking up and down his spine.

It makes Frank feel a little better even though he’s still wobbly when he finally walks out of the stall.

“I can do this,” he tells Gerard, because he can. He’s done this before and even if he sucks tonight, he will still be up on a stage doing what he loves.

Of course, Frank shouldn’t have worried at all because the show is great; apart from one minor technical difficulty with Frank’s mic that no one but him seems to notice. Everyone in the audience seems pretty happy with the band’s performance and they get to do one of their new songs as an encore.

This time, Gerard is waiting for Frank at the edge of the stage as soon as the set’s over, grinning like a goon and looking at Frank with stars in his eyes.

“You were fucking huge,” he shouts over the roar of the crowd and the main act’s warm up mix that’s playing on the loud speakers.

“Thanks.”

Gerard gives Frank a quick and awkward hug and opens his mouth to say something else, but someone grabs Frank by the arm and pulls him back onto the stage.

Frank doesn’t get to hear what Gerard wanted to say because there’s a ton of gear to move out before the main act takes up the stage. Since Frank and his band mates don’t have a lot of roadies to help them, they have to move everything back into their van all by themselves which sucks.

It takes fifteen minutes to pack up everything and move it outside.

Frank doesn’t get to talk to Gerard at all while they’re loading up the van. He sees him on the corner of his eyes a couple of times, standing by the back door and helping Hambone carry amps and guitar cases but that’s all.

By the time they’re done, Frank goes back inside to look for Gerard and maybe get a drink with him and watch the next band’s set, but instead, he finds Ray and Christa.

“Annie is here,” Christa announces with a toothy grin.

And sure enough, Frank sees her only a few feet away, leaning against a barrier off the side of the venue, right next to the ladies room. He hasn’t heard from her in nearly a month which probably means they’re not off to a good start.

Maybe he didn’t make a good first impression or maybe she forgot who he was and then chucked his phone number. Either way, Frank’s fine with it. It’s not like he actually gives a shit.

“I don’t think she’s here to see me,” he says, watching her disappear into the restrooms.

Frank sees Gerard too, standing by the front door, craning his neck and scanning the crowd like he’s looking for something or someone. Maybe he’s looking for Frank.

“She lost your number so I gave it to her. I hope you don’t mind,” Ray says, and Frank sees how he squeezes Christa’s hand like it’s some kind of code only the two of them can understand.

Christa snorts so there’s definitely something going on there.

“You should go and talk to her,” Ray says, stepping out of Frank’s way and patting him on the shoulder.

Frank thought he was done trying to set him up with Annie. He thought Ray was done trying to set him up with anyone at all; but apparently, he misjudged how unwavering Ray and his girlfriend can be when they’re in charge of Frank’s love life.

“Maybe later,” Frank mumbles, ducking in the opposite way. “I think Hambone’s looking for me”

This is complete bullshit and Hambone would probably kick Frank’s ass if he knew how often Frank uses him as an alibi. But it gets Frank off the hook for now.

He waves Ray and Christa goodbye and makes his way to Gerard through the compact crowd.

*

They have a couple of drinks together, all on the house thanks to Mikey and his connections.

Then Gerard takes Frank home because he’s too tired to wait on his band mates to take him home with the van. Besides, he hates having to sit in the back with all the gear.

When they get to the apartment, everything is unusually quiet and dark; no parties, no music, no stupid fuck watching his TV on too loud next door. It’s nice even though it’s probably going to change as soon as Mikey comes home.

“I don’t think this place has ever been this quiet,” Frank remarks.

“Mikey’s still at the show,” Gerard says as he wipes his feet on the doormat and follows Frank inside.

“The night’s still young.”

The night is actually a toddler considering it’s only 10pm but who cares? It’s not like anyone will notice they’re gone.

Frank shrugs off his coat and flops onto the couch, head first into the armrest and his stomach sucked in between the cushions.

“Do you wanna go to bed now or…I don’t know. Do something?” Gerard asks as he pulls Frank’s legs up just so he can sit down.

Frank rolls around onto his back and mumbles, “I could watch a movie.”

They don’t have the Monster Channel anymore which is a real bummer but they have a crap load of DVDs, some of them in double, since Mikey and Frank seem to share similar tastes.

Gerard picks something of Frank’s, a black and white classic horror movie with Bela Lugosi. Frank might be a little more tired than he first thought because he falls asleep nearly fifteen minutes into the movie. Or maybe he’s really sick and that shit he pulled today wasn’t actually just the nerves.

When he wakes up, he’s curled up on the couch, his feet up on Gerard’s lap and Gerard is fast asleep, his head cocked at a weird angle that can’t be good for his neck.

That’s how he notices the small circular bruise on the underside of Gerard jaw. It looks like a hickey from here but not a fresh one. It sort of looks a lot like the one Frank still has to hide under the collar of his shirts, but smaller. Maybe they made out with the same vampire the night of the house warming party.

Gerard coughs and sits up. His eyes blink open and he stares at Frank, looking completely confused, like he can’t remember how he ended up here. He wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt and yawns.

“I was just resting my eyes. What did I miss?” he asks, looking back at the TV.

“The vampire bit someone and then someone staked him,” Frank says even though he has no idea since he wasn’t paying attention. “And now I think we’re gonna turn off the movie and go to bed.”

Gerard nods and lets out another loud yawn. He rubs his eyes with his fists and watches as Frank fumbles with the remote. Frank would get up if he could but his legs feel like rubber. He stretches them and cracks his knuckles.

“We should do this again when we’re both awake,” Frank says, giving Gerard a sheepish smile.

Gerard nods. “Can I sleep here tonight? Too tired to drive my ass back to my place.”

“Sure.”

Frank doesn’t see why he shouldn’t let Gerard stay. It wouldn’t be the first time Gerard slept over on the couch.

“Let me grab you extra blankets,” he says, shuffling to his room, still half asleep as he picks a couple of blankets from one of his drawer.

When he gets back to the living room, Gerard is asleep, his neck at the same weird angle. Frank doesn’t want Gerard to wake up with a crick in the neck. He grabs his shoulder and shakes him gently.

“I think you should sleep in my bed,” he says when Gerard blinks at him through heavy lidded eyes. “This couch sucks and it’s warmer in my room.”

Gerard mumbles something Frank doesn’t quite catch and follows Frank back to his room, doing his best impression of a zombie.

*

They both get sick the next morning. Gerard starts coughing as soon as he wakes up and Frank follows suit a few minutes later.

“Maybe we shouldn’t get out of bed at all,” he suggests, draping an extra blanket around his shoulders and reaching for Gerard’s hand under the duvet.

Gerard hums and squeezes Frank’s hand weakly. His skin is burning up. His palm is damp.

It’s probably the fucking flu, and since Frank has the immune system of a frozen waffle, it’s going to transform into something worse, maybe bronchitis if he’s really lucky or some kind of infection that will earn him a hospital stay.

Frank ends up napping for the better part of Sunday, Gerard pressed up against his back and breathing hot on his neck. At least, neither of them seems to be coughing their lungs out when they’re asleep.

Mikey checks up on them twice during the day, probably just to make sure they’re not dead. He brings them snacks but Frank can’t stomach anything. Even the smell of bagels makes his stomach churn. On Sunday night, they decide Gerard is too sick to go home and should stay over until he’s better.

“But I have deadlines,” he whines, his face pale, with a greenish tint to it which can’t be good. “I need to work and my gear is at my place.”

“Gimme your keys and I’ll get your stuff for you,” Mikey says in a firm tone of voice that surprises Frank. “Gimme or I’ll tell mom you’re being unreasonable.”

Gerard moans.

“I’ll tell her to come over. You know how she gets when one of us is sick.”

“Fine,” Gerard finally capitulates. He points at his jacket on the floor and says, “Front left pocket.”

Frank doesn’t know how Gerard and Mikey’s mom gets when her boys are sick but it can’t be worse than his mom. While Mikey is gone, Frank takes another short nap because he doesn’t want to be doing anything else. His brain feels like it’s swimming in a sea of cotton and nothing can hold his attention more than two seconds. He tries to pick up a book at one point but dozes off in the middle of a sentence that he has to read for at least ten times to even get.

Then, sometime during the night, he musters up the energy to move to the couch and Gerard follows him reluctantly. They put on a movie they don’t watch and snuggle up to each other, two shivering, coughing messes, wrapped in fleece blankets.

Even though he enjoys the sudden proximity with Gerard and how nice it feels to be so close to him, Frank really hopes it’s just a one day bug and that he’ll be able to go to work on Monday morning.

However, it only gets worse from there on and all the Theraflu in the world can’t do shit anymore. By Monday afternoon, Frank is convinced he’s not going to make it, that he’s going to die in Gerard’s arms.

Since Frank is too weak to go see a doctor, and since Gerard and Mikey seem to be increasingly worried about him, he does the next best thing and calls his mom. She’s equipped for this sort of situations because she’s been Frank’s nurse for twenty nine years.

She comes by during her work hours to give Mikey detailed instructions, as if taking care of Frank required a fucking manual, and then goes on a cleaning spree around the apartment while Mikey and Frank stare at each other in a poker-face-off.

When she leaves, the apartment is spotless, there’s a fresh batch of cookies just out of the oven and a pot of steaming hot noodle soup.

Maybe it’s the soup or the cookies, or maybe it’s the drugs she brought with her but Gerard is a lot better on Tuesday. He’s able to walk around the apartment, his blanket draped around his shoulders like a cape. He’s also able to sit down and draw.

Frank watches him in between naps, laid out on the couch like his spine has somehow melted in with the cushions. Gerard is sitting cross-legged at the foot of the couch, working on this panel where George and Jamie officially meet for the first time.

It’s a very important scene because George has been stalking Jamie for weeks now. He has to because he’s a superhero and Jamie needs saving on a daily basis. But now, Jamie is talking to him and acknowledging him for the first time and George is being a bit of an insecure fuck.

“Jamie wouldn’t say that,” Frank mumbles as he hooks his head over Gerard’s shoulder and sniffles. “He wouldn’t tell George to leave him alone. He would like to hang out with George because George is a very cool kid. I mean, he just saved Jamie’s life. That’s a huge deal to him.”

“George isn’t cool,” Gerard says with a shrug that makes Frank’s head slide off his shoulder. “He’s a loser. Jamie should tell him to fuck off.”

“No. I think they could be great friends now. Jamie would think so too,” Frank says as he sits up and wraps his legs around Gerard’s chest. “Since we share a brain, I know he would like to hang out with George.”

Gerard snorts and pats Frank’s calves. He erases the angry words from the speech bubble, fills it with _Thank you_ , and draws a hint of a smile on Jamie’s face.

“How’s that?” he asks, looking up at Frank over his shoulder.

“Much better,” Frank replies with a grin. “When are they gonna make out?” he asks because it’s actually something that’s been bothering him for a while. Well, besides the fact that it’s a comic book about him. There’s so much sexual tension in the story that he could cut it with a fucking chainsaw.

“We never made out in high school. I don’t think they should.” Gerard shrugs and then goes back to work. “Besides, it’s not the point of the story.”

“You never got superpowers in high school and as far as I know, Ray and Mikey can’t talk to machines or walk through walls,” Frank says as he untangles his limbs from Gerard. “I think it’s fair to say your comic isn’t a hundred percent accurate, but I really like it that way.”

*

Annie calls Frank on Thursday morning while he’s at work. It’s his first day back after being sick like a dog for four days so it’s a big fucking deal and he feels like he should give the customers his full attention to compensate his prolonged absence.

He doesn’t pick up because of that and because he doesn’t recognize the number. Besides, he’s too busy testing this new guitar they just got to even bother. She leaves a message in her soft, almost too quiet voice, something short but to the point. She wants to go out with Frank on a date and he just needs to pick where and when.

Frank hasn’t been on a date in forever. He doesn’t even know what people actually do on dates except eat and talk about boring shit, like siblings and what Frank’s great uncle does for a living. Dates make everyone uncomfortable so he doesn’t really see the point in them.

“Take her to see a movie,” Ray says, rolling his eyes at Frank like he’s an idiot. “I don’t know. You’ve been on dates before. Just do whatever you like. She’s a very nice girl and I’m sure she’ll like it.”

Frank could take her to the movies. It wouldn’t require much talking and that’s always a good thing. Maybe they’ll have a topic of conversation too if the movie doesn’t suck too much.

When Frank comes home, Gerard is there, sat on the couch, the TV blaring even though he’s not watching it. He’s not too sick to go home anymore but for some reason, he’s still crashing here and sleeping in Frank’s bed. Frank doesn’t mind having an extra roommate though.

He sits down next to Gerard and watches him sketch for a few minutes.

It looks like he’s still working in his comic book but there’s something different about it. The characters are familiar but the settings are new. It looks like the next issue of the Dork Squad will take place during a field trip, and George is going to have to save Jamie from the humiliation of being duct taped to a tree by the seniors, naked and with words written on his chest with permanent marker.

 _Poor kid._ Frank is glad he never got it that bad in school.

Gerard eventually looks up from his art and gives Frank a weary smile. “Hey, Frankie. How was your day?”

Frank puts his legs up on the armrest and across Gerard’s lap, momentarily covering his sketchpad. “It was work. Not really interesting although we did get a gorgeous Epiphone Wilshire and I could have played on that one all fucking day. How was _your_ day, honey?”

“I had to re-draw an entire panel because some asshole at my publisher lost the damn thing. How do you lose something so fucking important? It’s not like I can draw it the same twice.”

Frank shrugs. It sounds like a pretty shitty thing to do.

“And now I’m working on something new,” Gerard says as he pulls his sketchpad from under Frank’s legs and starts sketching again, using Frank as a desk.

Frank hates fucking up Gerard’s concentration while he’s working but there’s this thing he needs to ask him and it can’t really wait. He puts it off for a few minutes, turning to look at what’s on TV but then he just can’t take it anymore. SpongeBob Square Pants and his antics don’t really grab his attention for long.

“So, you remember that girl, Annie?” he asks, stretching out to grab the remote at his feet. He turns the TV off but clings to the remote like it’s a lifeboat.

“Christa’s friend?” Gerard’s fingers tighten around the pencil at it moves faster on the page.

“Yeah. Well, she called me at work today. She wants to go out on a date with me.”

This makes Gerard look up. He stops drawing and grimaces. “Oh?”

 _Oh_ doesn’t even begin to cover it. It’s not like Frank’s been sending signals to this girl. She’s pretty cute and nice but she’s not…she’s not what Frank’s looking for. He’s not sure he’s even looking for anything at the moment.

Frank pulls his feet away from Gerard’s lap and sits cross-legged. There are a few minutes of uncomfortable silence where Frank pulls at loose thread of his ripped jeans and then he asks, “Should I go?”

Gerard shrugs. “Do whatever you want.” He stares down at the page for a second, his jaw clenched before resuming work.

It’s not what Frank wants to know. He knows he doesn’t owe Gerard anything and that he can do whatever the fuck he wants. Gerard is not his mom or is girlfriend or anything but a friend who spends a lot of time on his couch and occasionally takes naps in Frank’s bed.

Frank shakes his head. “No, I mean, does it bother you if I go?”

Gerard’s fingers still for a few seconds. That’s all. He doesn’t look up and doesn’t say anything else than, “Why would it bother me?”

“Because of, you know--” He gestures at the comic, feeling lame. Frank isn’t even sure. It was stupid of him to even think Gerard would still have feelings for him and that what they had was anything more than friendship.

And then just as Frank is struggling to find the rest of his sentence, Gerard grabs the remote from Frank’s fingers, turns the TV on again and mumbles, “You don’t need my permission to go out with girls. I’m over you, Frank.”

It stings a bit even though Frank shouldn’t even care that Gerard is over him. Besides, Frank is used to being hurt like that, with words. He got a lot of that back in high school because he was too short or too fat or just too much everything to breathe the same air as douchebag seniors.

“Good then,” he says, scrambling up to his feet, hoping to look resolute and not like he’s going to go pout in a corner. “I’m gonna call her back now,” he adds making his way to the kitchen to grab his phone.

“Great,” Gerard mumbles out of the side of his mouth.

“Great.”

*

“I thought you wouldn’t call me back,” Annie says as they’re walking out of the Lincoln Cinema.

Frank gives her a smile that hopefully doesn’t come across as too fucking nervous. Because Frank _is_ really fucking nervous. He hasn’t fucked up yet but it’s early still.

The movie wasn’t so great in spite of all the buzz surrounding it, and the theater they picked has probably the lousiest sound system in Jersey, but apart from that, Frank had a good time.

Next up, they head for the pizzeria right down the road because it’s the closest place to eat besides Blimpie’s, and Frank would rather eat vomit than eat there. Even though he doesn’t have a car and can’t take Annie to a fancy place like Red Lobster or Olive Garden, Frank has fucking principles and he’s standing by them.

“So, tell me more about Gerard,” Annie says as she grabs Frank’s elbow and hooks her arm up around his.

Annie’s easy to talk to, which is kind of unexpected. She’s also much more tactile than he thought.

“Gerard?”

“Yeah. You mentioned him a _lot_ the last time we talked.”

“I did?” Frank doesn’t remember that part of the night. He only remembers having to drive Annie home because she could barely stand up on her own. Maybe this was before that.

“And you said I was the drunk one,” she says, laughing into the collar of her coat and pressing herself closer to Frank.

Frank stops for a second in front of the window of this huge pet store that’s right across from the restaurant. It’s probably a good thing it’s already closed because Frank might have ended up buying a puppy. Mikey’s apartment is definitely lacking in that department. At least, Frank could play with Cujo, his mom’s dog while he was at her house.

“You coming?” Annie asks, pulling on Frank’s arm.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. So, who is he?”

They cross the street together, still hooked by the arm and Frank says, “He’s just this guy…this friend who’s super talented and smart. He’s doing this comic book. Do you like comics?”

Annie shrugs. “I guess. I’m more into regular books but I don’t have anything against comics.”

“Well, Gerard’s is about this dork and this other dork,” Frank explains as they climb onto the sidewalk and walk briskly towards the restaurant.

Annie peers inside through one of the windows, like she wants to make sure they’ll have somewhere to sit, and turns to Frank. She smiles and says, “Sounds interesting.”

“Gerard and I used to go to school together but I didn’t know him,” Frank says before pushing the door open and walking into the stuffy air of the pizzeria.

*

Frank isn’t sure when his date with Annie transforms into a _Gerard is awesome_ one sided conversation but it happens naturally. When Annie drops him off at the end of the date, she doesn’t look pissed off at Frank for how lousy her night was. She’s actually cool about it.

“We should do this again,” she says as she double-parks in front of Frank’s building.

She sounds sincere, which is weird considering what Frank just put her through. He is probably the worst date ever. He grins and says, “Sure. Maybe I won’t talk so much about Gerard next time.”

Annie’s laugh is just as soft as her voice. She plants a kiss on Frank’s cheek and says, “Or maybe we could just go to the movies and not call it a date.”

“Really?”

She nods. “I like you a lot, Frank. You’re hilarious and adorable and if you weren’t so obviously hung up on this guy, we could definitely work.”

He’s not hung up on Gerard. He just enjoys his company and loves talking to him and being with him and maybe sleeping with him too.

“I’m not,” he says and he doesn’t even manage to convince himself. “I swear he’s just a friend.”

“Call me back whenever you like,” Annie tells him while he struggles to unfasten his seat belt.

Frank waves at her as she pulls into the incoming traffic. He stands outside on the sidewalk for a second, pondering the situation with Gerard and then takes the stairs up because the elevator is acting up again.

When he finally gets to the fifth floor, he’s out of breath and feeling like maybe he should cut back on cigarettes. Or maybe he should call the super and make him repair the fucking elevator. That would be even better.

Gerard is sat in the hallway, his head between his knees, blocking Frank’s access to his apartment.

“Did you lose your keys?” Frank asks, not even sure Gerard has the keys to this place. “I thought Mikey was in tonight,” he says because he’s pretty sure Mikey could have let his brother in.

Gerard looks up, startled and jumps to his feet. “No,” he says as he shuffles his feet on the doormat. “I was waiting for you.”

“Are you okay?” Frank asks as his mind starts racing. He pictures car accidents and horrible shit happening to Mikey or his mom or maybe Gerard’s parents. Or maybe Mikey burnt down his collection of action figures while he was out in a freak toaster accident.

Instead of reassuring Frank, Gerard shakes his head and clenches his hands into fists.

“No. I’m not okay.”

Frank’s heart skips a beat. He closes the distance between them and nudges the doormat with the toe of his sneakers. It’s probably something terrible and Frank isn’t sure he’s prepared for that.

“I’m not okay with you dating this girl,” Gerard adds after a few seconds, his hand grabbing onto the lapel of Frank’s jacket. He pulls him in and stares right into Frank’s eyes.

 _Alright_. No car accidents and no dead Mikey. But it’s something just as serious.

“You’re not?”

“No,” Gerard says, his fingers trailing up and down Frank’s jacket. “Actually, I’m not okay with you dating anyone else.”

Frank feels a bit stupid because Annie was right. He’s so fucking hung up on Gerard it’s pathetic. His stomach does a weird back flip and then he can feel his cheeks burning.

He ducks his head and bites on his bottom lip, trying to figure out what he should say next. He’s supposed to say something. Maybe he should ask if Gerard meant _they_ should be dating.

Then Gerard leans over and whispers, “I’m gonna kiss you now. Is that okay?”

Frank stares at Gerard’s mouth for a second, like he actually needs to fucking think about this. He replies with a nod, because _yes_ ; yes, he wants Gerard to kiss him now. In that moment, he needs it more than he needs fucking air in his lungs.

Gerard seems to hesitate for a moment and then he just goes for it. He presses his hand against the back of Frank’s neck, his thumb skimming over the nape and locks their mouths together.

It takes Frank a few seconds to realizes this is really happening to him; he’s making out with Gerard, the guy he punched by accident and his roommate’s brother; a dork who’s had a crush on him since high school.

Frank eventually gets with the program and pushes Gerard up against the door, his keys falling at his feet with a loud clunk. He grasps at Gerard’s shirt and clings to him tight as the kiss deepens. Gerard’s hot mouth tastes sweet and like coffee and cigarettes. Of fucking course, it does. His tongue twists around Frank’s and his fingernails rasp at the base of Frank’s neck.

Frank moans and his hips jerk without his consent. He’s getting hard just from this, just from Gerard’s touch and the way his tongue feels against Frank’s. He’s getting hard and he wants to rub himself all over Gerard, thrust up against him, groan into Gerard’s mouth. They shouldn’t be doing this out there. The neighbors could see them and Frank would have to move out or be embarrassed for the rest of his life every time he would run into one of them while taking out the trash.

He breaks the kiss, reluctant, hungry, and still so fucking hard, and murmurs. “We should go inside.”

Gerard nods and laughs, loud, infectious.

Frank laughs even though he doesn’t see what’s so funny about this.

“This wasn’t how I pictured our first kiss,” Gerard says, planting a kiss on Frank’s forehead and licking his already slick lips.

Frank feels his knees wobble under him. Gerard thought about kissing him before. “How did you picture it?”

“We were both in college and we were in your dorm room,” Gerard explains and it sounds like he actually had a lot of time to think about it. “I think we would have made out while your douche roommate was at his girlfriend’s.”

“I had a douche roommate?” Frank asks as he nuzzles at Gerard’s neck and presses his lips against Gerard’s warm skin. “Did we make out like that?” he whispers, his fingers, skidding across Gerard’s chest and up his neck. He snakes a hand down between them and palms at Gerard’s crotch.

“No.” Gerard moans and pushes into Frank’s hand.

Then something clicks behind him.

“Oh my God,” a voice says from behind the door. “Get the fuck away from my door, you sex crazed maniacs.”

 _Fucking Mikey._ Gerard frowns and steps away from the door, letting go of Frank’s neck.

Frank takes a deep breath. He leans down to pick up his keys on the doormat and watches as the door opens, and Mikey peers out into the hallway.

“You guys are so stupid it hurts,” he says and even though he doesn’t roll his eyes at them, Frank can hear it in his voice. “The stupidest stupids that ever stupided.”

“Stupid isn’t a verb, Mikey,” Gerard protests, pushing past his brother to get inside.

“First kiss, my ass. I was there for your first kiss,” he says, making air quotes gestures. “You were both drunk and you sucked face on the couch for hours. Then you started giving each other hickeys and I had to break it off before you started humping each other in front of all my friends. You fucking shameless assholes.”

So that would explain the giant hickey on Frank’s neck and the fact that they slept together on the couch that night. He’s pretty sure there was no sex involved though.

“We made out?” Frank asks, turning to Gerard to see if he’s just as surprised as him.

Gerard crooks his mouth and rubs at his jaw, right where his hickey used to be; the hickey Frank apparently gave him, unless Mikey is just trying to mess with them in a big way.

“I. Did we?” Gerard stutters.

Mikey slams the door shut and huffs at them. “Yes, you did. Oh my God.” Then he disappears into his room, mumbling to himself and shaking his head.

Frank stares at Gerard for a few seconds, not sure how he’s supposed to react to the news and then they both burst out laughing. They really are stupid.

*

Instead of making things easier for them, everything is kind of messed up the morning after their first kiss. Well, second or whatever number they’re at now. It’s the first Frank remembers so the other ones don’t really count.

Gerard spends the night and sleeps in Frank’s bed but nothing happens. There’s no more kissing that night even though Frank is just itching to pull Gerard close and shove his tongue down his throat.

Frank isn’t sure what it is they’re doing. It’s not like they decided what the next logical step was. Maybe they’re just friends who make out when they have too much to drink and that’s all, really.

They stare at each other without saying a word for a little while, and then they start talking about a possible recasting of every Nightmare on Elm Street movies.

“I think my mom would be great as Freddy,” Gerard says and Frank laughs at the idea. He doesn’t even know why but it’s funny.

Frank eventually falls asleep right in the middle of a discussion about movie reboots and how they always suck unless they’re about Batman or have Simon Pegg in them.

“Obviously, Simon Pegg makes a movie,” Gerard mumbles just as Frank dozes off. “Unless it’s a movie about aliens.”

If he could open his mouth and speak right now, Frank would agree with that statement.

When he wakes up the next morning, Gerard isn’t there anymore. Frank pats the empty spot next to him on the mattress and it’s cold. He doesn’t get up right away because it’s Saturday and he doesn’t have to be at work. He curls up and basks into the morning sunlight, thinking about Gerard and how good it felt to kiss him; how fucking great it felt to hear him moan and feel him harden in his tight pants.

Maybe they could do this again. It’s not that hard to kiss someone when you’ve done it before. _Except it totally is._

It takes Frank a little while to fully wake up. After a bit of stretching and groaning, he rolls out of bed and goes out on a quest for his breakfast, a cup of coffee and a bagel. When he walks out of his room, palming at his dick through his boxer shorts, he finds Mikey spread out on the couch with a bowl of cereal balanced atop his chest, watching reruns on Comedy Central.

Gerard is there. He hasn’t moved back to his own place yet and he’s sitting on the kitchen counter, laughing hysterically at an episode of South Park that Frank has already seen about twenty times.

Frank gives him a coy smile and heads straight for the fridge, trying not to over-think this thing. They will kiss again whenever it’s appropriate or maybe they won’t do it again. Frank’s cool with it.

“Morning,” Mikey mumbles. He waves at Frank and merely misses knocking over his breakfast all over himself and the cool carpet with a funny name they just got from Ikea.

Frank mumbles back at him and pours himself a bowl of cereal since someone stole the last of the bagels he brought home after work yesterday. _Fucking Way brothers always stealing his fucking food._ This is getting ridiculous.

Gerard brushes his hand over Frank’s forearm while Frank is cursing though his teeth because there’s no fucking soy milk left and he can’t drink regular milk because his body hates him. There goes his fucking breakfast. At least, there’s still some coffee left.

“Hey,” Gerard says as he stirs his soggy looking cereal over and over.

“Hey.”

“I went out and bought you bagels,” Gerard says, grabbing something behind his back and producing a box from Frank’s favorite bakery in Kearny. “I’m sorry I ate all of yours.”

Frank looks at the box and smiles. “Thanks.”

This is really nice of him. Gerard actually went out this morning instead of sleeping in and bought Frank breakfast. Even Frank’s ex-girlfriend never did that for him. Frank’s mom would probably say that Gerard is a keeper.

Gerard hands Frank the bagels and jumps down the counter. He pours his soggy breakfast down the sink and plants a quick kiss on the corner of Frank’s lips like it’s not a big deal. It’s not a real kiss because Gerard could have been aiming for a friendly kiss on the cheek and miss by a few inches.

Mikey still makes a disgusting sound like he’s about to barf and calls them both “gross”.

*

Things take a couple of days before they’re back to normal. Well, as normal as they ever were between them before they kissed and managed to complicate everything.

Frank isn’t really sure how he should be acting around Gerard, and if sitting in his lap would constitute a public display of affection that could scar Mikey for life, or if it’s just a continuation of how they’ve been behaving around each other since Frank moved here.

So instead of spreading his legs across Gerard’s lap like he does every day when he gets off work, Frank sits at the other end of the couch and watches Gerard draw for a few minutes.

He’s restless and uncomfortable and this doesn’t feel right at all. Then there’s silence, awkward and heavy, and Frank can only hear the sound of Gerard’s pencil on paper and nothing else. The TV isn’t on today which is weird since Gerard always likes having background noise when he works.

Frank manages to do this a few minutes, sit still and wait for something to happen. Then he has to go away to his room so he doesn’t get the urge to tackle Gerard and make out with him on the spot.

He feels like he should be putting some distance between them because he’s not sure he can do the friends thing anymore; pretend that everything’s cool and that the kiss didn’t mean shit. Because it sure as hell did.

It only takes Gerard a few minutes before he’s peering inside Frank’s room and asking, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not.” Frank clenches his jaw and stares down at a book he’s only pretending to read because he’s always been a terrible liar. His mom always said something in his eyes gave him away.

“Then come out and sit your ass on the couch. I need your input on this plot point.”

Gerard looks like he’s not messing around. He stands in the doorway with his hands on his hips, lines creasing his forehead. He stares at Frank and taps his foot until Frank gets up and follows him out into the living room. He sits down and waits for Frank to spread his legs across his lap to use him as a desk again.

Mikey isn’t back from work yet so any display of affection wouldn’t be public. They should be okay.

“Do whatever you usually do,” Gerard mumbles as he sharpens his pencil and quirks an eyebrow at Frank.

Frank shrugs because he’s doing what he usually does which is, not much at all actually. He’s laid out on the couch and watching Gerard work. That’s the gist of it.

“Say something. Anything. Tell me about your day,” Gerard urges him on, staring down at his drawings and making a weird face, his mouth crooked and his nose wrinkled.

“I sold one of our most expensive guitars today,” Frank says, really doubtful it’s of any interest to Gerard. It’s the kind of stuff only Frank or Ray can appreciate.

“Yeah? What kind of guitar did you play when you were in high school?”

“Epiphone. My dad bought it for my birthday. It’s still the coolest shit I’ve ever gotten from anyone. I picked it myself and all but my dad was there to help me.”

“Tell me about your dad. Are you two close?”

Frank doesn’t really get what’s so interesting about his life and if he was close to his dad or not. “What is this?” he asks because this feels like the Spanish Inquisition.

Gerard looks up at Frank and shrugs. “I’d like to know that stuff. It’s important that I know this stuff about you.”

“For your comic book?”

“Sure,” Gerard mumbles, unconvincing. “Character research.”

“Ok.”

If it’s stuff for the comic book, Frank can answer. It would make Jamie more fleshed out as a character and that’s perfectly fine. Jamie’s dad could be a drummer and his parents could be divorced too.

Gerard resumes drawing and then stops after a few seconds. He looks up again and mutters, “I also wanna know this because we’re together.”

“Together,” Frank repeats. It’s a strange word that doesn’t mean much. They’re spending a lot of time _together_ but that’s probably not what Gerard means by that.

Gerard quirks an eyebrow at Frank and says, “Yes. I thought that was clear when I said I didn’t want you to date anyone else. You’re not dating anyone else, are you?” He looks a bit worried for a second there but Frank quickly reassures him.

“No. I’m not.”

“Good,” Gerard says. He gives Frank a lopsided smile and asks, “So, tell me about your dad, Frank. I bet he’s a cool guy.”

“The motherfuckin’ coolest. He plays drums. Did I ever tell you that?”

*

Frank gets sick the morning before the band has to play a show at the Loop Lounge. It’s a bigger venue which means more people are going to be there.

Mikey got them the gig because he’s friend with this guy who happens to be a tour manager for the band they’re opening for, this pop punk band Frank doesn’t really care about. They have a pretty large fan base though so it’s a big deal for Frank; more people they need to impress.

Once again, he’s sick because he’s nervous. He’s worried they will sound like shit and that everything that can go wrong will actually go so fucking wrong that people will start throwing their drinks at them or boo them off stage.

Of course, that’s ridiculous, but Frank’s brain doesn’t seem to agree.

Hambone tries to talk him down because that’s what he always does. It doesn’t seem to be effective at all this time, and Frank has to ask his band mates for a collective hug after sound check because he really needs one. It makes him feel more relaxed for about an hour and then he’s back to being a ball of stress.

He paces around backstage before going to the men’s room to lock himself up in a stall. He spends a long while staring at his reflection into the dirty and chipped mirror up on the wall and trying to convince himself that he needs to go back out and _man-up, for fuck’s sake._

The tiny bathroom only has a couple of stalls. It’s narrow and smells so much like piss that Frank should probably go outside for a walk in the parking lot and get fresh air. He’s thinking about doing just that when he hears a muffled knock on the door.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” Frank shouts before turning the water on so whoever’s out there thinks he’s just washing his hands.

“Frank? Are you alright in there?” Gerard’s voice calls out. He knocks on the door again and asks, “Can I come in for a minute?”

The door isn’t locked so Gerard could just come in. He doesn’t need to ask.

“Yeah, come in,” Frank says before splashing some water on his emaciated face. He looks pale like a ghost right now. Normal people aren’t supposed to look like this.

Gerard takes a step towards Frank and puts a hand over Frank’s on the edge of the sink. “Are you okay?” he asks, his forehead creased. His hand is warm and soft. He squeezes Frank’s fingers and then starts petting Frank’s arm.

“I’m freaking out,” Frank replies, pulling his hand away from the sink.

No. It’s not really freaking out at this point. Frank’s stomach hurts so much that he can’t think or breathe properly. He’s ready to crawl out of his skin.

“It will be okay, Frankie. You’re going to be great and they’ll all love you,” Gerard says, his words echoing Hambone’s from a couple of hours ago.

Frank knows this. He knows he’s just being ridiculous and that he should seriously stop freaking out so much about doing what he loves. And yet, it doesn’t stop him from worrying about the smallest details.

“Come here,” Gerard says, pulling Frank into his arms and giving him a tight hug. “It’s gonna be great.”

It feels nice and Gerard smells really good tonight. He smells like he actually took a shower for the occasion. Frank is impressed.

He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. He can do this. It’s nothing. It will be over before he knows and he will be ready to do it again. It’s just the size of the venue that makes everything a bit more stressful. Why did he agree to play this venue? Maybe another basement show would have been better?

Gerard hangs on to him for a few seconds before pulling him into one of the stalls, his fingers laced in with Frank’s.

The floor is disgusting in here, a mix of piss and mud. “It’s like some guys don’t know how to aim. It’s not that fucking hard,” Frank mutters between greeted teeth. The stench is even worse here.

Without a single word, Gerard locks the stall and pushes Frank back against the door. He gives him a devious smile and drops to his knees; just like that; no nonsense.

“You’re gonna get all dirty,” Frank says as he watches Gerard undo his belt.

Gerard doesn’t look like he cares about how dirty his pants will get. He unzips Frank’s fly and shoves his hand down Frank’s boxer shorts. He grabs Frank and pulls him out of his jeans.

For a second there, Frank forgets where he is and why he’s here. He just knows that Gerard is touching him, squeezing him, his palm hot and slick.

Then Gerard looks up at Frank and takes him in his mouth. He goes down like a champ, taking him whole in one gulp, swallowing around him a couple of times before pulling off again.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks, his lips brushing over the tip of Frank’s dick.

Frank shakes his head vehemently. He just needs Gerard to not stop what he’s doing, even for a second.

Gerard goes down on him again, lips stretched around Frank, his cheeks hollowed and his eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks. He moans and the sounds travel up Frank’s dick, up his spine.

Frank shivers. He tries to get a grip on something, anything. His fingers close around Gerard’s shoulders and he squeezes gently.

Gerard replies with a curl of his tongue around Frank. He slides his free hand in the back pocket of Frank jeans and gives Frank’s butt a tight squeeze.

Frank wants to push into Gerard’s mouth. He snaps his hips once, urging Gerard to take more or to go faster. He doesn’t really know what he wants. He just needs more of this; more of Gerard.

Gerard complies, sucking faster, his hand pumping at a rhythm Frank couldn’t even try to match.

Frank’s toes curl in his sneakers. He bangs his head on the door and groans.

Everything is going too fast but it’s not like they have that much time. The show is supposed to start in an hour and the doors will open any minute now. He fucking needs to come his brains out soon or he’ll have to hide his boner behind his guitar for the entire set.

He’s close now; so fucking close he can feel his stomach tense.

Gerard gurgles something around Frank’s dick, squeezes him, and pulls off just in time.

Frank comes with a loud groan. He’s pretty sure everyone in the club heard him. It’s noisy as fuck back there but this is even louder.

He spills over Gerard’s chin and over Gerard’s t-shirt, his eyes rolling back and his knees giving in under him.

When he’s done, Gerard wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and pulls up to his feet. He keeps Frank upward, pushing him against the door and wedging his knee between Frank rubbery legs.

He smiles and kisses Frank. It’s messy and Frank can taste himself on Gerard’s tongue.

“I bet you’re feeling better now,” Gerard whispers as he breaks the kiss and starts tucking Frank back in his pants.

Frank can’t really speak right now. He’s trying to remember how to breathe. He nods because _yes_ , he does feel so much better.

He gives Gerard an easy smile and reaches for Gerard’s crotch. He should reciprocate. He’s not really sure they have time but he can do his best, maybe a quick and dirty hand job will suffice.

“No. It was just for you. You can thank me later,” Gerard says, grabbing Frank’s hand and pulling it away from his dick.

Frank stumbles out of the stall a few seconds later.

He checks himself in the mirror and smiles. He’s glad he doesn’t have that much hair right now because if he had, it would be in complete disarray just like Gerard’s is.

Frank fixes his t-shirt and double-checks his zipper. Then he turns to Gerard and combs his messy hair with his fingers.

“So, is this going to become a thing for us?” he asks just as his fingers get caught in a knot. “Because I wouldn’t mind, really.”

Gerard grins. “Sure. If it makes you feel more relaxed, we should make this a pre-show tradition.”

“Bathroom stall blow jobs?”

“Yes. I’m allowed to blow my boyfriend wherever and whenever I want. Who’s gonna stop me.”

Frank giggles. He plants a peck on the tip of Gerard’s nose and grabs his hand. He’s so stupidly happy that Gerard said he was his boyfriend. Frank has a boyfriend now and his boyfriend gives great head.

*

Frank is just too fucking impatient to go home with Gerard after the show that night. As soon as their set is over, he jumps off the stage and finds Gerard standing over by the side, staring at him like Frank is the most amazing thing here tonight.

He’s stupidly proud of himself. The blow job did wonders and Frank felt so full of energy tonight that the band tore everyone’s faces off. Figuratively speaking, of course.

“Can we go home now?” Frank asks in a whisper, his lips brushing over Gerard’s flushed cheeks.

“I wanted to stay for the other band,” replies Gerard with a lopsided smile, his fingers sliding into the Frank’s belt loops. “Don’t you wanna see if they’re any good?”

There is no way in hell Frank can wait an hour to get his hands on Gerard’s dick. It’s not even a possibility. He’d rather drag him into the dressing room right now or have another quick bathroom adventure.

“I can’t wait that long,” Frank whines, rubbing his knee against Gerard’s thigh. “Come on.”

It seems to be working because Gerard lets out a low groan and bites on his lower lip. Frank knows he’s about to cave in, when Hambone pulls Frank back on stage.

“Having a boyfriend doesn’t mean you can’t help up pack up the gear, sweet cheeks,” he says, all serious and bossy like he can be on occasion. Then he winks at Gerard which makes him a lot less credible as a figure of authority.

Frank helps pack up the gear and grumbles a lot while doing it, just to show how unfair this is. He’s pretty sure people can die from too much sexual frustration. There’s probably a study about that somewhere.

As soon as the van is packed up, Frank runs back to the venue just in time to hear the main act take the stage. They don’t sound half as bad as Frank would have thought. Besides, Frank can’t be an asshole when the lead singer is basically up on stage telling how awesome Frank’s band was and how he would like them to open for them all the time.

Frank finds Hambone and gives him a high five. Then he finds Gerard at the exact same spot on the side and grabs him by his t-shirt.

“Can we go now?” he asks, shuffling his feet on the sticky floor.

“Yeah.”

They don’t really have to go home. They don’t really have to go anywhere. There’s no time for that.

Frank is hard as soon as they reach the back door. He drags Gerard through the rows of parked cars and tries to find Gerard’s Subaru. The thing is pretty easy to recognize because it’s dirty as shit and the bumper has a huge dent in it from when Mikey backed up in a telephone pole the day they were moving Frank’s things to their place.

They eventually reach the car, Frank’s hands shoved in the back pockets of Gerard’s jeans. Everything would be great at that point and they could be making out in Gerard’s back seat if Gerard wasn’t such a scatterbrain.

“I can’t find my keys,” he announces when Frank pushes him against the car.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Frank is too fucking impatient. He might as well fuck Gerard against the hood of his fucking car and hope no one drives by while they’re at it.

“I think I gave them to Mikey. He wanted to take this girl home after the show,” Gerard explains, casual, like this isn’t even an issue.

“How are we supposed to go home?” Frank asks because that’s another problem they should discuss.

“We could go with your band.”

“In the fucking van?” Frank shakes his head. There’s no fucking way he’s waiting for the guys to drive him home. No fucking way he sits in the back with all the gear and his boyfriend balanced on one of the amps. “I can’t wait that long.”

“Bathroom stalls?” Gerard proposes with a shrug.

“Too far away.”

Besides, it would mean getting back inside and fend off the crowd. That would take too much energy out of him.

Frank weighs his options for maybe half a second and then takes Gerard to the dimly lit alley where all the vans and buses are parked. He doesn’t have the key to the van, but since Hambone often forgets to lock it, maybe they’ll get lucky.

Of course, the van is locked. It’s probably for the best because there isn’t enough room to move, especially now that all the gear is crammed into the back and even though Frank is limber, he’s not sure Gerard would appreciate getting stabbed by a mic stand while he’s getting blown.

“Shit, fuck, motherfuckin’ dickwad.” Frank slams his hand over the rear window and tries the other doors. Hambone really picked the perfect day to start locking the van.

There has to be another way to make this work.

The area is pretty deserted now that the main act is on stage. There’s no roadie outside taking a smoke break for now and the bands’ vans are parked in a way that Frank and Gerard are shielded from the main road and from the parking lot.

It’s relatively dark here. There’s a link fence running around the venue with a hole, big enough for Frank to slide through.

On the other side, there’s a tiny patch of grass that should be comfortable enough to lie on.

“We’re the most romantic people ever,” Frank mutters as he helps Gerard through the fence.

There’s a crack and Gerard curses through his teeth.

“I think I just ripped a hole in my jeans,” he says, scrambling up to his feet and joining Frank on the other side.

He stumbles and topples over Frank, sending them both crashing on the wet patch of grass.

Frank gets the wind knocked out of him for a second. He stares up at Gerard’s big weirdo face in the pale moonlight and laughs. This is the most romantic thing he’s ever done.

Gerard quirks an eyebrow at him and sits up on his heels. “This isn’t funny,” he protests, looking down at his crotch and examining it like it might have sustained damage in the fall.

His crotch is fine but there’s a crack in Gerard’s jeans, running all the way around his inner thigh. He mumbles a low “what the hell?” before pressing a hand over the hole.

They can sort this sartorial issue later but right now, there are more pressing matters. Frank is hard in his jeans and Gerard looks like he’s getting there too by the way his dick is tenting in his torn pants.

“These are my fucking favorite jeans,” Gerard grumbles as he attempts to crawl up to his feet.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Frank asks as he grabs Gerard’s hand and kneels up in front of him. He could promise Gerard he’ll buy him a new pair of pants if that’s the only thing that’s still keeping him from having Gerard’s dick in his mouth. Fuck, he could even attempt to patch the stupid jeans if it’s all it takes.

Gerard squeezes Frank’s hand and stares down at him while Frank works on Gerard’s belt buckle. It’s shaped like a bat which is kind of the most amazing thing Frank has ever seen. It doesn’t take him too much effort to get it off and then he’s sliding a hand inside Gerard’s jeans.

Gerard sucks in a breath when Frank’s cold fingers wrap around him and squirms away before Frank can pull him out of his underwear. Gerard falls back on the grass with a loud thud and whines as Frank crawls on top of him.

“This is the worst idea you could come up with,” he says, fidgeting under Frank like he’s trying to go back behind the fence and put an end to this pathetic attempt at outdoor sex.

Frank sits in Gerard’s lap, his knees firmly grounded around Gerard and leans forward. He gives Gerard a quick kiss and smiles at him.

“It’s ok. I’ll make this worth the loss of your favorite jeans, baby,” Frank whispers against Gerard’s jaw.

Frank slides a hand in Gerard’s underwear and starts palming at Gerard’s dick, his wrist at an awkward angle and his own dick still trapped inside his own jeans.

Gerard fidgets some more, his hands running up and down Frank’s thighs, his rhythm matching Frank’s. When Gerard finally settles, Frank slides down from his lap and lies on top of him, his hand trapped between them, still stroking Gerard, his knuckles brushing up against his own dick.

The position isn’t the most comfortable and Gerard almost headbutts Frank in an attempt to kiss him. Frank keeps his hand moving and thrusts up, the tension building up in his stomach with every brush of his dick against the fabric of his boxer shorts.

Gerard moans and bucks up. He clasps his hands on Frank’s sides and opens and closes his mouth like a landed fish.

Frank picks up the pace, his fingers sliding more easily with Gerard’s pre-come and their combined sweat. He leans down and nips on the underside of Gerard’s jaw, wishing they were somewhere else, somewhere more romantic than two feet away from the Loop Lounge and its crowded parking lot.

Frank can hear the music, vibrations that seep through the walls of the venue. It provides him with a rhythm, fast and relentless that he matches with his fist. He bites down on Gerard’s bottom lip and sucks on it.

Gerard doesn’t last very long after that. Frank can feel him as he’s about to come, his back arching, his dick pulsing between Frank’s fingers. He mumbles something Frank cannot catch. Then he tilts his head back and comes in Frank’s hand, and all over his shirt and his ruined jeans.

A couple more strokes and Gerard is breathing heavily against Frank’s cheek, his fingers firmly gripped around Frank’s hips.

Frank lets go of Gerard and slides his slick hand in his own pants. He finishes himself off with three fast strokes, his hips snapping and Gerard’s voice in his ears, encouraging him, whispering his name, chanting it.

When they make their way back inside the venue, Gerard’s jacket is covered in grass stains, his jeans torn open and his hair mussed up.

Frank catches Hambone glaring at them from the corner of his eyes. He gives him a huge grin and snakes an arm around his boyfriend’s waist as they watch the main act wrap up their set.

*

As soon as they walk through the threshold of the apartment, Frank drags Gerard into the bedroom.

Mikey isn’t back yet and he shouldn’t be back for another couple of hours at best, if things don’t turn out the way he wants with the cute bartender from the Loop Lounge. This means they have the place to themselves for a little while and can be as loud as they want. _Fuck the neighbors._

Frank shoves Gerard onto the bed and struggles to remove his pants. They get stuck around his ankles because they’re a little damp. He manages to get them off without looking too ridiculous. He kicks them to the side and takes off his hoodie and his shirt as fast as he possibly can.

When Frank looks up, Gerard is still fully clothed and staring at him like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do next.

“Get naked,” Frank says in a commanding tone that doesn’t even sound like him. He’s just too fucking eager to see Gerard naked. It feels like he’s been waiting for this for ages.

Gerard nods slowly and starts taking off his clothes; his eyes screwed into Frank’s the entire time. This is actually the first time Frank sees Gerard naked. The outdoor adventure they just had didn’t count because it was dark. Also, they were both still wearing clothes.

This is something else; something better. They have all the time in the world and yet, Frank feels like he shouldn’t waste a second.

They don’t speak for the longest time and Frank can hear his own heart beat fast in his chest. He can feel it in his ears, racing as Gerard sits there, his dick already half hard and his eyes staring into Frank’s, intent, his lips curled into a half smile.

Frank climbs onto the bed and pushes Gerard onto his back. He straddles him, Gerard’s dick rubbing up against his, the friction almost too good, too much.

“When did you get all of these tattoos?” Gerard asks as he reaches for Frank with a shaky hand. He curls it around Frank’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss, not waiting for Frank to answer his question.

Frank opens his mouth and Gerard starts licking the inside of his mouth, his breath warm brushing over Frank’s upper lip. His fingers close tightly around Frank’s neck and Frank moans, deep in his throat, guttural.

They kiss and stroke each other for a little while, skin against skin, their tongue swirling together in Frank’s mouth and it feels like it’s the first time they really take time to explore each other.

Frank’s fingers meet the curve of Gerard’s spine. They trail up to a shoulder blade, pause for a moment when they reach the nape of Gerard’s neck and then smear across Gerard’s cheek, his thumb brushing up against the underline of Gerard’s jaw.

When Gerard eventually breaks the kiss, pulling away to catch his breath and lick at his slick lips, Frank slides a hand down between them and grabs at both their dicks. He gives them a good tug and squeeze, a firm stroke that makes him hiss and squirm into Gerard’s lap.

“I want to fuck you now,” Gerard whispers, out of breath, his hair covering half of his face and his pupils blown.

Frank moans because that’s all he’s able to do. He wants Gerard to fuck him so much that he can’t remember how to speak.

There’s some lube in his bedside drawer. He hasn’t been using it a lot lately, not since the last time he jerked off thinking about Gerard and how good it would be to fuck his mouth. Maybe he’ll get to do that again tonight.

Frank lets go of their dicks and crawls up the bed. Of course, he manages to elbow Gerard in the stomach and then knees him at the exact same spot for good measure.

“Oh fuck. I’m so sorry, Gerard,” Frank mumbles before reaching for the drawer. He pulls out a bottle of lube and a condom and goes to sit in Gerard’s lap again.

Gerard whines as he tries to sit up, a hand rubbing slowly at his stomach.

Frank gives Gerard a toothy grin and asks, “Are you okay?”

Gerard nods and wraps his arms around Frank, keeping him steady in his lap. “This is a recurring theme between us, you know? You hit me and then you make it up to me by being adorable.”

“I can’t help it. I was born this way.” Frank giggles and then tears he wrapper off the condom and starts rolling it onto Gerard’s dick.

“I haven’t done this,” Gerard starts, his hands twisting in the duvet as Frank’s fingers close around him. “I haven’t done this in a long time.”

“Me neither,” Frank says as he pours some lube in the palm of his hand and start slicking Gerard’s dick with it.

The truth is, Frank hasn’t been with a guy in ages. The last time he had a dick up his ass was when he was in college, just before he dropped out to tour with Sector 12. It wasn’t a great experience at all because he was drunk and a little high. It wasn’t anything worth remembering. Then Frank met his girlfriend and that was it.

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” Gerard says, his face so earnest, his eyebrows quirked and his mouth lopsided. “We could just—”

“No. I want to. I really fucking want to.”

Even though Frank knows there will be other times, maybe thousands of other opportunities to get up close and personal with Gerard’s dick, he wants it to be now. Waiting any longer would feel like fucking torture. Frank pours more lube onto Gerard’s fingers and throws the bottle on top of the bedside table.

Gerard is slow and meticulous as he stretches Frank. He takes his time, pushing in one finger at a time, adding more when Frank hisses and squirms.

Then, Gerard pulls his fingers out of Frank and strokes himself, spreading the lube evenly onto his dick.

Frank is ready. He doesn’t wait for Gerard to say or do anything and just shifts on top of Gerard. There’s a little bit of pressure and then Frank just goes down, screwing himself onto Gerard, his dick twitching and his knees shaking under him.

Gerard grabs a hold of Frank’s hips and digs his fingernails into the words etched in Frank’s skin, his thumbs tracing the contours of the two swallows he got tattooed around his stomach.

Frank leans in for a kiss, the rhythm of his hips a bit erratic, and his teeth graze at Gerard’s lower lip. He bites down, not too hard because he doesn’t want to hurt Gerard and pulls just a tiny bit.

At this point, Gerard starts pushing into Frank, his back arching, his fingers digging hard into Frank’s hips, anchoring him down and making the thrust deeper and faster.

The bed squeaks under them and the headboard clunks against the wall.

Frank groans and bends backward. The angle is perfect and Gerard seems to be hitting Frank’s prostate with every thrust now. Frank grabs his dick a millisecond before he goes over the edge. He comes, hard and all over his own chest, bucking as Gerard pushes in again.

Gerard doesn’t last much longer after this. Frank watches him as he shuts his eyes and purses his lips, making this ridiculous face like he’s trying not to sneeze. He arches up from the bed one last time and lets out a high pitched moan, his head tilted back and his throat exposed.

Frank lies down on top of Gerard, their chest slipping against one another, their skin wet and smeared with Frank’s spunk. He plants a kiss in the hollow of Gerard’s throat and lets out a heavy sigh.

“I’ve been thinking about doing this since the day I saw you,” Gerard whispers as he pets the crown of Frank’s head. “Since high school.”

“That’s creepy. I was fourteen.”

“No. I mean. Not the sex part. I just wanted to be with you. I wanted to be your friend,” Gerard explains and his hands slide along Frank’s spine. He wraps the duvet around them and hooks his legs around Frank’s.

“We should have been friends.”

For a little while, Gerard stills under Frank, his hands resting on the small of Frank’s back and his breath, hot against the nape of Frank’s neck.

“Do you think Mikey will mind if we fuck in the shower?” he asks, his fingers moving up and down Frank’s spine once again. “Tomorrow morning, maybe?”

Frank doubts Mikey would mind because he rarely uses the bathroom anyway. Besides, he’s not going to be back for a while and Frank could use a shower right about now.

“How about now?” Frank asks with a hopeful smile.

Gerard grimaces. “I don’t want to get up,” he mumbles, squeezing Frank’s hips and nuzzling at Frank’s neck. “Can we just stay in bed forever?”

“Alright.” Frank can always lure Gerard in the shower tomorrow morning and give him a blow job for his trouble.

Instead of falling asleep, Gerard shifts underneath Frank and grabs something off the bedside table.

Frank thinks it might be the lube and that Gerard is ready to go for another round (which would be awesome but Frank is still a bit too fucked out to go at it again. Maybe he’ll be ready if Gerard gives him five more minutes. He’s not fifteen anymore).

When he looks up though, he notices that Gerard is holding a pen and a post it note.

Gerard stares at Frank for a minute, like he’s studying him, his every feature; the shape of his face, the angle of his jaw and the curves of his lips.

Frank watches Gerard’s fingers move, his pen tracing the now familiar outlines of his very own comic book alter ego on the post-it note. He passes out a moment later, blissed-out and tangled up in Gerard, his cheek pressed against Gerard’s chest, listening to his steady heart beat.

He’s looking forward to the morning and the joint shower. Maybe Mikey won’t be home at all tomorrow and they’ll be able to fuck on every available surface in the apartment without him knowing.

*

Less than a week later, they’re at Walmart buying stuff they don’t need to decorate the apartment; new lamps, a fluffy bathroom rug and a doormat that has the Bat signal on it. They’re also here to buy a new shower curtain because the old one ripped right off the rod during their joint shower. The look on Mikey’s face when he found them in the tub, naked, entangled in the curtain and laughing like idiots was priceless. It was totally worth the death of a shower curtain.

Although Gerard’s already been living there pretty much full time, they’ve only just made it official. It was more practical this way. It made more sense.

“You should bring the rest of your stuff,” Frank had said one morning while he was sorting through their laundry. He kept finding Gerard’s underwear and his stinky and paint smeared t-shirts everywhere in his room. “And start paying rent.”

Gerard had raised an eyebrow at him and had mumbled, “Ok. But you’re the one who tells Mikey.”

At first, Mikey was a little reluctant to see his brother move in because he’s basically been living with him his entire life, but he warms up to the idea when Gerard promises to buy him jelly donuts every day and do Mikey’s laundry for at least a month (a promise Gerard isn’t going to keep, Frank is sure, but that’s beside the point).

So they’re in Walmart on a Saturday afternoon, looking like an old married couple because Gerard likes holding Frank’s hand as they walk around, bickering about stupid things like what brand of coffeemaker to get and what color should the new curtains in the bedroom be when this guy pushes past Frank and doesn’t apologize.

Frank would be fine with it if the guy didn’t give him the stink eye. Maybe he’s some kind of homophobic asshole who can’t stand seeing two guys holding hands.

“Did you see what that guy just did?” Frank asks, hip checking Gerard and turning to glare at the rude motherfucker.

“We need one of those fan heaters,” Gerard says, ignoring Frank’s question and browsing through the multitude of heaters in this aisle, letting go of Frank’s hand.

“No we don’t. Our room is warm enough,” Frank tells him, his eyes still on the motherfucker, following him as he stops in the kitchen appliances aisle.

“I’m always cold when I get out of bed.”

“You should stop sleeping naked, then.”

“You like it when I sleep naked.”

Frank does. He really does like when his boyfriend gives him easy access to his junk but now, Frank’s mind is elsewhere. “I think this guy wants to fight me.”

“What guy?”

“This guy,” Frank says, pointing at the jerkface with his chin. “Hey, assface,” he almost shouts, unable to control the volume of his voice. “What’s your problem?”

The guy looks surprised for maybe two seconds before his face switches to pure rage. His nostrils flare and he grinds his teeth. Then he opens his mouth and says the stupidest thing he could have possibly said.

“You’re my problem, midget.”

That’s it. Frank is ready to throw down in the middle of fucking Walmart and no one can stop him. He doesn’t even care that there are people everywhere, looking at him like he’s some kind of freak. He can’t even see them anymore because he’s zeroed in the jerkface.

He’s about to lunge at the guy, his hands clenched into fists and his heart racing in his chest, because the guy called him a fucking midget and this is not okay, when Gerard’s fingers find their way around Frank’s hips and start stroking slowly, moving towards the base of his spine underneath his t-shirt and hoodie.

“What are you doing?” Frank asks before a moan escapes his mouth. He totally didn’t want to do that. He’s supposed to be fighting this asshole who just called him a midget but it’s like he can’t even move anymore.

“I’m trying to pick a heater for our room,” Gerard says, deadpan. “What are you doing?”

“I’m beating the shit out of this guy.”

“Are you winning?”

“Of course I am. I just busted his kneecap.”

Gerard presses himself against Frank’s back and nuzzles at his neck. “You’re so tough,” he croons, his voice husky, his fingers scratching at the base of Frank’s neck.

“Does that turn you on? Cause I could fight this guy if that turns you on.”

“You don’t even know.”

Frank actually knows. He can feel it against his ass. Gerard is already half hard in his pants and Frank is slowly getting there too.

“Pick a fucking heater so we can go home and have sex,” Frank says, squirming out of Gerard’s arms. He turns around because he doesn’t really care about the jerk anymore. He’s not really in a mood to fight. He’s in the mood to get on his knees and suck his boyfriend off.

“But we can’t go. We haven’t decided on a color for the new shower curtain. We do have to replace it.”

“Pick whatever the fuck. I don’t care.” They’ll probably end up tearing it off the rod just like the old one. It’s not like they will stop trying to have shower sex any time soon.

Gerard heaves a sigh and pushes their shopping cart into the next aisle. He links their fingers together and says, “Okay. Curtain and then home.”

That’s exactly what Frank wanted to hear. He smirks and plants a wet, noisy kiss on the corner of Gerard’s lips.  



End file.
